


Season of Love

by Bedalk05



Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [12]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eskel Needs a Hug (The Witcher), Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Found Family, Getting Together, Humor, Jaskier is Everyone’s Emotional Support Bard, Jaskier is Geralt’s Emotional Support Bard, Lambert Needs a Hug (The Witcher), Light Angst, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Shenanigans, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: The fic where Geralt and Jaskier are the ones who have their shit together for once and everyone has a case of the feels.Alternate title provided by the lovely Freerunner4427: fondly exasperated cat waits for fool of a wolf to get hit with the clue bat.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Original Female Character(s), Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Male Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Roach/Scorpion (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742950
Comments: 337
Kudos: 698
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. The Arrivals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rawrkinjd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/gifts).



> This is dedicated to rawrkinjd who is a masterclass fic writer and the reason I even know the Aiden/Lambert and Roach/Scorpion ships exist. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on "Roach Deserves Nice Smelling Things in Her Mane" for your enthusiasm, encouragement, and prompts. As I mentioned, several people's ideas will be making an appearance in this fic and I thank you for your wonderful thoughts!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone arrives at Kaer Morhen, including some unexpected guests.

Jaskier is chattering at Geralt about the latest gossip in Kaedwen when the witcher minutely stiffens. Turning to see what has his mate so tense, Jaskier’s jaw drops. Through the tavern doors walks one of the most gorgeous specimens Jaskier has ever set his eyes on. 

Skin tight leather with red accents highlight every one of the man’s _many_ assets. Twin swords protrude from his back while daggers glint on his hips. Dark wavy hair frames piercing amber eyes, making Jaskier’s breath catch in his throat. 

Another witcher. And with a Cat medallion instead of Wolf. Geralt has told Jaskier the bare minimum required regarding other witcher schools to prevent the shifter from hiding his favorite dagger out of frustration. But it was still the _bare_ minimum. Oh, Jaskier’s fingers itch with the stories this stranger could tell. 

As Jaskier feels a tight grip on his arm, he turns back to his mate, lifting an inquiring brow. Geralt is vibrating with tension, making the bard frown. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks, trying to meet the witcher’s eyes. But Geralt won't take his gaze off of the newcomer. 

“Cat Witcher,” Geralt grits out. 

“Yes, I gleaned as much from his giant cat medallion,” Jaskier responds with poorly disguised humor, eyebrows still angled in a frown at his mate’s odd behavior. “What’s the problem?” But before Geralt can respond he stiffens even further and Jaskier feels a heavy presence on his back. 

Twirling around, the bard smiles brightly at the stranger who surveys Geralt and Jaskier with a lazy expression. Wordlessly, the witcher spins the chair beside Jaskier so it faces backward before plopping down in it, legs sprawled out and arms dangled loosely over the edge. 

Geralt releases a low growl, his grip on Jaskier’s arm tightening. Huffing out an exasperated sigh at his mate’s odd behavior, Jaskier turns to assess the newcomer. Where the Wolf witchers are broad, this man is lean, his body languidly coiled around his chair but ready to pounce like the predator he clearly is. 

Jaskier is starting to feel slightly irritated however when the man doesn’t even acknowledge him, gaze pinned on Geralt instead. “Hello! And you might be?” Jaskier asks pointedly. 

“Aiden,” the witcher replies, his voice silky and smooth like Redanian chocolate. 

Brazenly tapping Aiden with his free hand Jaskier says brightly, “This is where you ask who I am.” 

Those predator eyes flick impatiently to Jaskier, narrowing into slits.”You’re the White Wolf’s bard,” he states, faint amusement peppering his words. 

Growling Jaskier crosses his arms with a pout before retorting petulantly, “I’m my own man you know! I don’t belong to anyone.” 

Aiden’s unfathomable gaze turns fully to Jaskier and the bard feels pinned like a fly in a spider’s web. “That medallion around your neck says differently,” he remarks, gesturing idly to the necklace Jaskier wears over his doublet proudly. Gaze sharpening he adds, “And if the rumors are to be believed, you’re no man at all.” Jaskier gulps at the dark interest in those amber orbs, stomach fluttering with nerves. 

While Jaskier scrambles to find an adequate response Geralt slowly rises before planting his hands on the table to loom forward. “What do you want Cat?” he rumbles, eyes spelling murder. 

Instead of looking cowed Aiden just smiles lazily. “Your Lambert and I have travelled together infrequently over the past few years. He offered me safe refuge at Kaer Morhen for the winter if ever I would need it. Decided I would take him up on it this year.” Jaskier watches Aiden curiously, his initial assessment of the man recalibrating. The way he said Lambert’s name...it almost sounded fond. Huh. Is the Cat looking to catch a Wolf? 

Geralt growls, fingers curling into fists but doesn’t speak. Even more curious. Though he doesn’t talk of it, Geralt has implied that all of the witcher schools have been sacked, and Kaer Morhen is the last one standing. Even if he has some sort of vendetta against the Cat, Geralt clearly can’t turn away a witcher in need when there are so few left, especially if Lambert is friends with him. 

Aiden shoots him a sharp-toothed smile when no protests come, knowing he’s won. “Make one wrong move, I slit your throat,” Geralt threatens with dark intent, a tone of voice Jaskier rarely hears from him. Okay-he’s getting the full story out of the witcher. Winter is going to be hell unless some kind of truce is established. 

Oddly enough, Geralt’s warning only makes Aiden’s smile grow. “Promises, promises,” he croons before snagging Geralt’s ale and swallowing it in one gulp. Oh fuck. Does this guy have a death wish? “So,” he belches. “When do we ride out?” 

*******

Geralt is seething, and for once Jaskier is not helping. A fucking _Cat?_ What in all the hells was Lambert thinking? Oh when he gets his hands on his brother- _fuck._ It’s just like Lambert to befriend a fucking Cat. They’re volatile and unpredictable; while the Wolf formula sought to blunt emotions, the Cat version amplified them, unbalancing the witchers in the process. They’re dangerous assassins who have no qualms about taking contracts on humans and now there will be one with his mate and his daughter and his fucking family and if anything happens to them-

Geralt forces himself to take a steady breath. He’ll just have to be on his guard. So much for a relaxing winter. 

Jaskier is walking beside Roach but instead of talking Geralt’s ear off or playing his lute to help distract him the bard is chattering to the _damned Cat._ It’s been impossible to get his mate alone in order to outline what a horrendous idea befriending the assassin is. 

But Geralt sighs. It’s not like Jaskier does anything he doesn’t want to do anyway. If he wants to make friends with a madman there’s nothing Geralt can bloody well do to stop it. What’s worse than Jaskier holding a conversation with the Cat though is that the witcher actually responds to the damn man. He’s been regaling Jaskier with the tale of how he and Lambert met and the various contracts they took together and the bastard is eating it up. 

“I just can’t believe Lambert has never told us about you!” Jaskier exclaims in between stories. “I will be having some firm words with him when we arrive.” 

The dark chuckle from the witcher raises Geralt’s hackles. “You’re too kind to me bardling,” he smirks. And that’s the other problem. They’ve been travelling together for weeks and are near the end of the climb to Kaer Morhen but the Cat hasn’t shown his true colors yet. No-he’s been _friendly._ Or, as friendly as a witcher is expected to be if their name isn’t Eskel. Geralt is growing twitchy with anticipation for when the Cat inevitably snaps. But so far he walks, talks, and rides with an easy grace and calm demeanor that sets Geralt’s teeth on edge. 

Suddenly Jaskier stops in his tracks, nose to the air and eyes narrowing. Pulling gently on Roach’s reins Geralt turns silently to the shifter and waits to hear what he has found. They’ve gone through this routine often enough so Geralt only releases a resigned sigh when instead of explaining what he smelled, Jaskier shifts and races off. 

Geralt slumps tiredly in his saddle. He should have expected that. The odds of Jaskier actually using his words before bolting away are always low. A thoughtful hum sounds from atop the black stallion beside him. Though Geralt doesn’t want to engage in conversation with the assassin, he raises an inquiring brow. “I knew of the rumors but it’s one thing to hear it and another to see it,” the Cat muses. 

Geralt doesn’t like that excited glint in the madman’s eyes. “Touch him-” 

“And you slit my throat, yes yes I get it,” the Cat interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “Honestly Wolf, if I wanted him dead I would have done it already. I have little patience for games.”

Geralt sees red. Launching himself from Roach, Geralt tackles the assassin into the ground, pummelling him with a single-minded fury he has rarely felt. A distant part of him notes that the Cat is defending himself but not retaliating, but that only serves to stoke his fury more.

“What the fuck Geralt?!” Violently pulled from the madness consuming him, Geralt turns to his mate with a blink, fist still raised. The shifter is naked, cradling a bloody human in his arms. “I found him off the path,” Jaskier explains anxiously. “We must get to Kaer Morhen now.” 

Turning to the Cat, Geralt lands one more punch for the principle of it all before climbing off the feline and tromping over to Jaskier. Picking up the discarded clothes, Geralt blocks the other witcher’s view as Jaskier places the man down gently before redressing. Geralt studies the limp figure curiously. There is a dangerous pallor to his olive skin and his brown hair is streaked with dirt. Only the shallow breathing confirms that he’s still alive. 

Geralt tenses as Aiden draws up beside him. Damn Cats and their light footsteps. Tilting his head curiously Aiden asks, “Why are you saving him? He’ll just be a burden to carry for the rest of the journey.” 

Jaskier eyes harden as he slips on his furs and boots. Geralt itches to wrap his arms around his mate; he must be freezing after having his skin bared to the chill. “Because he’s a living being,” Jaskier states bluntly. “And I can’t just let him die.” Geralt studies the Cat as he stares down at the stranger with a baffled expression. It’s refreshing seeing something other than smugness or charm crossing that damn face. 

Lifting the man up effortlessly, Jaskier cradles him in his arms before continuing his trek with a look of stubbornness the witcher knows well. With a sigh, Geralt plucks the body from his mate’s arms before securing him onto Roach with some ropes, patting the horse firmly. 

The rest of their hike proves uneventful fortunately. As they enter the keep Jaskier calls out for Marya. The woman’s elation when she spots them turns to concern when she sees the body flopped in the saddle. With steady hands she unties him and carries the man to the infirmary, not even acknowledging the Cat witcher. Jaskier scurries after her like the needy pup he is. Aiden simply watches the proceedings with a bemused expression, making Geralt grin. He can’t wait for Marya to properly meet him and put some fear into the assassin. 

A moment later Vesemir walks up to Aiden with an unreadable look. Scanning the witcher from head to toe he grunts, “Looks like Geralt already got to you.” Geralt smirks. The black eye and split lip gracing the bastard’s otherwise perfect face makes Geralt want to preen. “Step one toe outta line and I’ll sic Marya on you,” Vesemir remarks mildly, before turning to walk back to the main hall. “Tend to your horse then I’ll show you to your room.” 

Aiden glances at Geralt, quirking his brow. “Marya?”

Geralt allows a feral smile to cross his face. “You’ll meet her soon,” he replies cryptically before leading Roach to the stable. 

*******

Jaskier is hovering over Marya anxiously as she arranges her healing materials quickly. The wolf in him is desperate to shift and reunite with his mum but he knows this takes priority. Maybe he can help though. With expert hands, Marya wipes off any blood she finds, seeking where it comes from, before stripping off the man’s shirt. Her hands pause when she is greeted by what looks like some sort of bandage wrapped tightly around his chest. “Julian. Out.” She commands without taking her eyes off of the man’s torso. 

Jaskier hesitates. “What?” Why is she kicking him out? He hasn't even started distracting her yet, which he’s very proud of. 

Icy eyes glint in the candlelight as she turns to him, lips pinched. “Don’t question me. Out.” Jaskier opens his mouth before shutting it again. He knows better than to protest at that tone. With one last lingering glance at the mystery man, Jaskier shrugs and walks out. 

Humming spurts of melodies, Jaskier wanders the keep, nose to the air. When he catches the scent of books and rain and bread and spice, the bard changes direction and eagerly heads to the library. Bursting through the door Jaskier shifts so he can bound over to where Eskel and Vesemir are huddled over books scattered on the floor. 

In a giant leap, Jaskier tackles the two witchers, chuffing at the outraged yells. Recovering quickly, Eskel wraps his arms around Jaskier to flip him. Rolling, Jaskier wiggles out of the stronghold and pounces on his packmate again, tail wagging. Oh, he missed the witcher. 

As he gnaws on Eskel’s arm happily from where he has him pinned, Jaskier eyes Vesemir. The elder wolf somehow pulled himself out of the fray and now watches with an amused tilt of his lips. Well that just won’t do. Releasing his captive, Jaskier turns his sights on the older witcher. Vesemir’s eyes widen slightly a second before Jaskier tackles him. As they continue to wrestle, the scents of pack infuse the air and Jaskier sinks into the tangle of limbs with a contented rumble.

*******

At the sharp burst of lemon and ozone, Jaskier is pulled out of a doze and the doggy pile he has found himself in. Leaping up, he shifts and scrambles into his clothes to greet his daughter. Peeling out of the library and through the courtyard, Jaskier meets up with Geralt who is trying not to look as eager as the shifter but _coincidentally_ is matching his pace. 

This was the first full year that Ciri roamed the Continent on her own and Geralt and Jaskier have been a ball of anxiety all year. Even with the magical means of communicating that Yennefer gifted them, the pair have had several sleepless nights as they imagined all the horrendous things that could happen to their girl. 

They skid to a stop as they reach Ciri, jaws dropping in unison at the unexpected sight. Around Ciri’s arm stands a woman with rich brown skin like leaves in Autumn. Her sharp amber eyes briefly distract from the pointed ears partially hidden by elaborate braids cascading down her back. A wicked dagger hangs from her hip and muscular arms speak of daily labor. 

Despite the crowd of men who have tumbled out of the keep, the woman stands her ground, flicking to each person with discerning eyes. Ciri bites her lip, bouncing on her toes as she does when she’s apprehensive. “Everyone, meet Ewa. Ewa, this is most of my family,” Ciri spreads an arm to encompass the group of men standing stiffly. 

Jaskier, as the most emotionally competent of the lot, is the first to recover from his shock at the unexpected guest. “It’s lovely to meet you Ewa,” he gushes. “How wonderful that Ciri brought a friend.”

“I’m not her friend.” Ewa’s voice has a musical note to it, with a husky undertone; it is quite enthralling. Jaskier falters, casting Ciri a curious look. 

Groaning, Ciri tilts her head to stare at the sky. “I thought we agreed to wait E,” she gritted out. 

Those enchanting amber eyes dance as Ewa smirks. Shrugging unapologetically she remarks lightly, “You know I’m a fickle woman.” 

Sighing, Ciri shifts so she holds Ewa tighter. Jaskier glances back and forth between the two women before a slow smile spreads across his face. Internally, he is jumping with joy while his wolf growls protectively. Tamping down his competing instincts he says smoothly, “I amend my earlier statement. Ciri, how nice of you to bring your partner to visit.” 

A choking noise sounds from behind him and Jaskier has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Oh, his dear wolf is not going to take this well. 

Ewa’s solemn countenance softens slightly as she looks at Jaskier with a nod. “You must be Jaskier.” 

Releasing a chuckle at her astute observation, the bard bows slightly to his daughter’s partner. “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance dear Ewa,” he says warmly. Turning to see where Geralt is looking disturbingly red in the face, eyes bulging out, Jaskier calls, “Darling, come greet your daughter’s lovely partner.” 

Shaking himself, Geralt walks jerkily over to them, lips sealed tight. Nodding stiffly to their guest the witcher grits out, “How nice of Ciri to bring you here. It’s strange, she’s never mentioned you.” Ciri looks sheepish at her father’s glower, but Jaskier simply rolls his eyes. Poor dear is in shock. 

“Come Ewa, let’s introduce you to the rest of the pack and we’ll find you a room, _separate_ from Ciri’s of course,” Jaskier adds with a warning glare, guiding them to the main keep. The flash of guilt crossing Ciri’s face is not encouraging. Oh gods. Jaskier is _not_ ready for that conversation. He doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ be ready, in fact. 

“The pack?” Ewa prompts. Turning to look at Ciri with an inquiring brow and seeing her shrug in response, Jaskier sighs. Of course she didn’t prepare the girl for what awaits her at the keep. This should be interesting. 

“Yes, well, we’re all family here,” Jaskier explains blithely. “And we’re all quite protective of our pup.” Jaskiers bares his teeth, his wolf fighting to make itself known. 

To his surprise, Ewa simply nods stoically. “Understood.” Hmm. Maybe she won’t be running for the hills after a day. 

*******

Eskel gently lays some fresh bandages on the stranger’s stomach wound, following Marya’s guidance. He was surprised when she requested his help; though they get along Marya and Eskel haven’t spent too much time together. “Why me?” he asks as he begins rubbing salve over the cuts on the man’s face and arms. 

Marya hums. “Needed someone discreet. Of course, I could’ve asked Vesemir but he needs to keep an eye on the keep to make sure it doesn’t burn down.” 

Eskel chuckles as he brushes a strand of hair from the man’s face. “It certainly is gearing up to be quite an interesting winter.” They work in silence, continuing to tend to the stranger. It’s a miracle he survived; the wound in the man’s stomach was deep but fortunately didn’t puncture any vital organs. Jaskier mentioned that beside the man was a bow and arrow and a couple of dead wargs so he clearly went down fighting. 

If not for Jaskier’s nose he would have died alone on a desolate mountain. Eskel’s heart clenches at the thought. Such a fate is expected of a witcher but from what he can see, this is just an ordinary human. Why he was climbing the Blue Mountains alone remains a mystery however. Though witchers are naturally suspicious, especially after the sacking of Kaer Morhen, Eskel can’t imagine that this man could be an actual threat to them. Eskel is burning with curiosity over who he is and why he was so close to the keep. 

He averts his eyes as Marya adjusts the wrap around the stranger’s chest. Now that he thinks about it, he understands why Marya chose him. Jaskier would have asked too many questions and Geralt would have frozen awkwardly and Lambert would have made a crude remark. 

Eskel once spent a lovely night with a woman named Julia. Of course, she admitted, that wasn’t always her name. As they lay together, she described the body she was given as a mistake by the gods, a blasphemous statement if said to anyone but a witcher. Eskel couldn’t care less what the gods think. 

He realizes he’s staring so with a jolt Eskel turns to the bowl of water. Making the sign _igni_ he reboils the water before dipping the cloth he had been using to clean the man’s wounds back into it. When he hears a soft gasp though Eskel whirls around, swallowing as forest green eyes peer curiously at him. “Are you a god?” the man rasps, his voice smooth like honey. Eskel fumbles the rag, clenching it so tightly he can feel the seams tear. Him a god? Is the man blind? Can’t he see the scars that mar his face? 

A low chuckle sounds from the man’s bedside. Blinking, the man turns to stare at Marya. “Am I dead?”

“No my lad but you may wish you were when the potion I gave you for your pain wears off.” At that moment he glances down and notices he’s topless besides the wrap around his chest and the bandages over his wound. Gasping again, he tries to sit up only to cry out in pain. 

Tsking, Marya presses him down, gently yet firmly, into the cot. “You are in no state to move boy,” she lectures. 

Lying down compliantly, the man catches his breath with a wince before looking at Marya with wide eyes. “You called me boy.” 

Furrowing her brow Marya huffs. “What else do you want me to call you? Man?” She snorts derisively. “When you get to my age everyone is a boy. Besides, I see no name stitched into your clothing.” The man opens and shuts his mouth several times, gazing at Marya like she holds food after months of starvation. Eskel watches out of the corner of his eye, his face tilted so the man won’t see his scarring. 

Gods even covered in scratches and bruises the man was handsome. His strong and lean body was held up by a narrow face and crooked nose, like it has been broken before. His short cropped brown hair falls flatteringly over one eye. Fuck. Eskel shakes his head. He can’t believe he’s ogling a fucking injured man. How sick is he? 

Licking his lips the man finally murmurs, “My name is Kamil. Who may I call my saviors?”

Briskly adjusting the bandages that had slipped out of place by his jostling the shifter replies, “My name is Marya. You have refuge in Kaer Morhen until you heal.” 

Eskel nearly drops the bowl of water he is bringing to the bed when those lively green eyes turn to him. “And you?” Eskel gulps. Why isn’t this man cowering in fear? Eskel knows how he looks to humans and non-humans alike. Like a monster. 

“The quiet one is Eskel,” Marya finally answers with a roll of her eyes. 

Eskel only nods in greeting before dipping the cloth in the water once again. “Your wounds need to continue to be cleaned. Do I have your permission to touch you?” he asks quietly, trying to soften his rough voice. 

He swallows when Kamil looks at him, head tilted and face expressionless. “How chivalrous of you,” he finally observes dubiously. Nodding slowly he adds, “You have my permission.” 

Oh fuck. Eskel takes a steady breath as he begins to dab at the cuts and bruises he hadn’t reached yet. As he works in silence, Eskel can feel a pair of curious eyes burning into him. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

*******

As everyone other than Marya and Eskel, who are still tending to the stranger, crowds around the dinner table, there is a tension brimming in the room. It’s Jaskier’s fault; without Lambert his pack isn’t complete and it’s making him... _itchy._ Which in turn is making him just slightly irritable. “Touch that fucking biscuit and I won’t hesitate to cut off your hand,” Jaskier snarls at Aiden. 

Freezing from where he was reaching for the last treat, Aiden flashes an amused glance at the shifter. “I was wondering when I would see some of your bite little wolf,” he remarks lightly. Jaskier rolls his eyes. If Geralt were here he would be growling at the Cat’s use of his pet name. Fortunately, the witcher sulked off the third time Jaskier snapped at him for chewing too loud. 

As though he could sense Jaskier thinking about him, Geralt trudges back into the room with a familiar looking ball of fluff. Plopping Dandelion in Jaskier’s lap he growls, “Pet the cat and calm the fuck down.” Bristling at his tone, Jaskier bares his teeth at his mate before turning his attention to Dandelion. Crooning, Jaskier begins scritching at the cat’s ears, grinning at the ensuing meow and nuzzle. 

He’s jerked out of his reverie by a voice filled with youthful glee. “Is that a _cat?”_ Looking up with a frown, Jaskier witnesses the carefully composed mask of Ewa’s fall away, replaced with bright eyes and an excited grin. Ah. Jaskier understands what Ciri sees in her now. 

Smiling down at the current object of everyone’s attention, even Aiden’s though he hides it better, Jaskier scoops up the cat and proffers him up to Ewa. Her eyes shine as the woman gently accepts the peace offering. “Hello handsome fellow,” she croons. Jaskier watches out of the corner of his eye as the tension that had been brimming in Geralt since Ewa arrived begins to ease, just slightly. 

Just then, the distinct smell of cinnamon wafts in the air and Jaskier and Aiden jump up at the same time before bolting out of the room. _Lambert._ Mid stride, Jaskier gives into his instincts and shifts, gaining speed and crashing into the witcher as he stomps into the keep. 

Lambert releases a surprised “oomph” as they roll but he quickly recovers, tussling with the shifter to try to gain the upper hand. Jaskier can only release an amused rumble. The witcher should know at this point that he never wins. 

They land panting with Lambert pinned underneath Jaskier when a pair of pristine boots stop by their heads. Laughing breathlessly, Lambert quips, “Missed me that much Song-” but Lambert’s words morph into a squeak as he tilts his head to see the arrival. “Aiden?” he breathes, the fingers digging in Jaskier’s fur twitching.

Jaskier watches with interest as the Cat crouches down to be on level with the other Wolf. “Heya kitten,” he says with a soft smile. _Kitten??_ Holy fuck. Jaskier’s shock and glee only grows when instead of bristling and snapping Lambert stutters before rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “Feel free to save me from this beast at any time,” he grumbles. 

Aiden just smirks, eyes dancing. Raking his gaze along the witcher’s body not currently covered by fur he purrs, “I think you are more than capable of handling him yourself.” Jaskier watches in stunned silence as Lambert stammers before shoving Jaskier off him rapidly, brushing his hands on his trousers. And-is he preening? _Ho-ly **fuck.** _ Oh gods. Oh dear Meltitele. Jaskier cannot _wait_ for Geralt to see this. Jaskier rolls to a sitting position, not wanting to miss the reunion of these two lovers, only to slump in surprised disappointment when Lambert only gives Aiden a gruff pat on his back. 

Jaskier tilts his head as Aiden’s smile dims, shoulders drooping. Oh no. Of _course_ they’re a pair of pining idiots. There must have been something in the godsdamn mutagen formula that ensures all witchers need to be as dense as a couple of lead weights on the bottom of the bloody sea. 

“The fuck happened to your ugly mug?” Lambert asks as he walks away.

“Oh you know you love it,” Aiden calls, his brief vulnerability quickly hidden behind a confident smirk. “And to answer your question, your brother happened to me,” Aiden responds wryly, spinning to follow the Wolf witcher. Lambert stops in his tracks, whirling around to reassess Aiden’s injuries with a scowl. As the witcher gently traces a finger down Aiden’s face, Jaskier watches a minute shudder ripple through the Cat’s frame. 

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Lambert mutters heatedly. 

Grasping Lambert’s hand Aiden squeezes it firmly. “Settle kitten, my face will be back to its handsome state come morning.” 

Lambert relaxes slightly, placated by the reassurance. “I’m still gonna make his life hell,” Lambert grumbles, staring at their joined hands like it’s a puzzle he can’t quite tease out. 

“And that’s why I love you Lambert,” Aiden croons, brushing his hand down the Wolf’s face. 

Lambert gapes like a dying fish before stuttering out, “Well-I-you know-” then the witcher scowls before stomping off with a growl. “I’m gonna fucking train. Call me when the drinks are out.” 

Aiden watches Lambert’s retreating figure with a sigh that could easily be categorized as “forlorn” before gathering the witcher’s scattered packs. When he spots Jaskier looking at him with this head cocked, the witcher bares his teeth. “What are you looking at wolf?” he hisses before storming away. Jaskier blows out a sigh, shaking his head. This is going to be a long winter. 


	2. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The residents of Kaer Morhen settle in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment or gave some kudos so far! I am thrilled that you enjoyed the first chapter and I hope the rest of the fic lives up to your hopes. Happy reading!

“So. Ewa. What do you do?” Geralt grunts, crossing his arms.

Instead of looking intimidated like most sane people would when facing the White Wolf, Ewa just quirks a small smile. “I’m a blacksmith.” It has been less than 24 hours since they all have arrived and the poor woman has been getting interrogated by the witcher since she came into the dining hall for breakfast.

“Where?” 

“Hagge.”

“Don’t they need you now?” 

“I have a business with my brother. Work slows in the winter and Leon doesn’t mind working with just an apprentice.” Jaskier smirks behind his cup of tea as he witnesses the battle of words. This is the most Geralt has willingly spoken possibly since Jaskier has known him. Figures it would be for the just cause of testing Ciri’s partner. Fortunately, Ewa is passing with flying colors in Jaskier’s humble opinion. She has a maturity and poise that matches Ciri’s along with a dry wit that simmers below the surface, sparking at a moment’s notice. They make a good match.

Jaskier may still be in denial regarding his (adoptive) daughter actually _dating_ someone though. And if Jaskier is struggling with grappling with such a concept, his poor wolf must be floundering like a drowning kitten. Geralt leans forward, eyes narrowing.

“How did you meet?” 

At this question Ewa’s glinting eyes soften. “She came ‘round my shop 2 years ago needing replacement armor. I said I’d get right on it but she lingered to chat.” Jaskier hums. They had done some test runs two years back, dropping Ciri in towns to try gaining contracts by herself. Geralt is probably cursing himself for not fighting Jaskier harder on the witcher’s irrational idea to tail Ciri back then. Ewa glances at Jaskier with a smirk. “She’s good at banter. And I could feel the heat of her gaze on me the entire time I worked.” 

Jaskier widens his eyes with mortification. No thank you. Too much information. _Damn you Geralt-did you really have to interrogate the poor girl? She probably brought that up just to punish us. And I'm an innocent party!_ Leaning forward Ewa clasps her hands together and grins evilly at Geralt. Oh yes. This is definitely in retaliation for all the questions. “Then this past year she kept turning up in my shop, needing something or other mended or wrought,” she says breezily. “If I were an utter dolt maybe I would have missed how unsubtle her flirtations were." At this Ewa shoots Geralt a raised brow. Oh-Jaskier is going to have some _words_ with Cirilla later. "Eventually, I grew impatient and as I fitted a newly finished chest piece on your daughter, I sealed our transaction with a kiss,” she finishes with a shit-eating grin, amber eyes sparkling with mischievous mirth. 

If Jaskier wasn’t debating between fainting and biting the head off of Ewa at the admission of her kissing his daughter, he would be composing a ballad. Geralt meanwhile looks set to implode or explode, Jaskier isn’t quite sure which. 

As Jaskier moves forward to check on his mate Ciri comes storming in, sweating and panting from her training session with Lambert. Say what you want about the man, but he knows how to teach. Though Lambert would probably scoff and sneer if Jaskier said that in front of him. 

“I swear if you are holding Ewa prisoner to interrogate her I’m kidnapping Dandelion,” Ciri growls, eyes fierce. She truly takes after her father. Geralt opens his mouth before clamping it shut at the warning glare he receives. Jaskier is forced to stifle a chuckle. Dandelion has quickly worked his way up to the level of biscuits in the keep, and Ciri’s threat is very much a real possibility. 

The cat in question is currently purring in Geralt’s lap, but at his name he stretches, yowling demandingly at Ciri. Softening immediately, Ciri plucks the cat out of Geralt’s lap before dragging Ewa out of her chair. “C’mon E, lemme show you the springs.” 

Mounting horror at the pronouncement consumes Jaskier. Growling, Geralt follows closely at their heels. Okay, good. He’s still functioning. “I think _not_ young lady,” he barks. As they engage in a heated debate over the matter, Jaskier finishes his tea with a hum. Geralt can handle them, Jaskier is sure. Besides, there is another duo that requires his attention. 

Following the sound of clangs and laughter, Jaskier finds Lambert and Aiden at the training ground. He leans against a wall and watches them with awe. They fight with a speed and agility Jaskier has never seen. As Lambert goes for a lunge Aiden leaps into the air, spinning so he lands behind Lambert. A cat indeed. The Wolf tumbles to the ground, rolling away from a strike before doing a backspring to land back on his feet. They continue like that, flipping and jumping in a way that is closer to dancing than fighting. It is marvelous to watch.

“They have it bad for each other, don’t they?” Vesemir grunts, coming up beside Jaskier. 

Humming, the shifter nods. “Oh, without a doubt. From what I can glean however, while Aiden is very deliberate with his intentions, our Wolf seems to be a tad clueless.” Recalling the interaction he witnessed yesterday Jaskier tilts his head. “Or in denial. Perhaps a mix of both.” 

Vesemir sighs, rubbing his face. “I swear if I spend another winter with one of my pups stinking up the place with his pining, I’ll go mad. Geralt was bad enough before you two got your shit together.” Jaskier’s heart flutters at the remark. Part of him wonders how many winters Geralt smelled of pining before discarding it as unimportant. The key is that they are together now and Jaskier couldn’t be happier. 

Speaking of mates-dragging his gaze from the performance Jaskier peers up at Vesemir. “How are you and Marya doing?” 

Vesemir’s scowl immediately melts into a fond smile. “Besides the occasional argument over who gets to hunt, we are quite content.” 

Barking out a laugh, Jaskier crosses his arms smugly. “It took Geralt and I some time but we’ve worked out a compromise,” he remarks, thinking fondly on the countless bouquets of flowers he’s been gifted over the years. 

“Oh, we have a certain system worked out fine, don’t you worry lad.” 

When Jaskier spots Vesemir’s dirty smirk he balks and gags. “Melitele’s tits I did not need to know that.” Chuckling, Vesemir pats Jaskier on the shoulder before striding away. 

Shaking the mental images from his head, Jaskier returns his attention to the sparring before him. Getting a running start, Aiden charges at Lambert before sliding through his legs. Spinning, the Cat drags Lambert so the Wolf's back is pressed to his chest before placing his sword at the Lambert's neck. "Yield," he pants, with a grin. Stiffening, Lambert lowers his sword. But when Aiden loosens his grip in satisfaction, Lambert head butts his captor and tackles him to the ground. The two men roll, swords forgotten as they grapple for the upper hand. The grin on Lambert's face is one Jaskier has never seen before. Gods, they're so in love it's disgusting.

Studying the tumbling figures fondly, Jaskier taps his chin with a hum. He’ll need to get Aiden alone at some point. Discuss Lambert, strategize. With a decisive nod, Jaskier turns away from the pair who hadn’t even noticed their audience, too consumed by each other. He should probably hunt down Geralt and make sure he hasn’t locked Ciri in a room to preserve her virtue or some shit. 

*******

“Is that a bloody cat?” Lambert stares at Dandelion as she lays curled in Geralt’s arms. He and Ciri had come up with a compromise. She gave Dandelion back with the oath that she and Ewa were just going to bathe and doing nothing else and gods Geralt’s brain is melting just recalling that conversation. It is easily up there with the first time Ciri got her monthlies for the top 5 most uncomfortable conversations in Geralt's life. At least then Jaskier was there to talk her through that whole process. 

Gods when did his girl grow up? When did she start kissing people? How can they know if this blacksmith is telling the truth? How do they know she actually _is_ a blacksmith? Geralt will need to test her. 

A whistle and a hand waving in front of Geralt’s face pulls him out of his reverie and he glares at Lambert. What is he smirking about? “What?” Geralt grunts.

Lambert smirks. “Whatcha got there Ger Bear?” 

Geralt growls. “Call me that again-I dare you.”

Lambert shrugs, shaking his arms out languidly. “What can I say? Seeing you snuggle that cat just makes you look even more like a giant teddy bear than usual.”

Without taking his eyes off of Lambert, Geralt calmly places Dandelion into the closest lap to him before launching himself at his brother. He could use some stress relief. 

Aiden sits, dumbfounded, and stares at the little ball of fluff that now curls into his lap with a meow. “He wants you to pet him,” the bard remarks after a moment, eyes glinting with amusement as he idly strums his lute. Grunting, Aiden tentatively brushes a finger along the cat’s spine, eyes widening when the tiny thing begins to purr in response. His frozen heart starts to melt as this delicate creature puts its trust in him. Foolish thing doesn’t realize he’s in the lap of a monster. 

“So Aiden,” Jaskier hums, studying his instrument. “How is your seduction of Lambert going?” Aiden barks out a laugh. Of course the little bardling caught on; it’s not like he’s being subtle. Lambert is just dense, bless his idiotic heart. 

Stroking the cat, Aiden watches Lambert tussle with the infamous White Wolf like they are simple cubs. “I may be a monster but I draw the line somewhere. I wouldn’t be pursuing him if I didn’t know he was interested.” Aiden doesn't quite know why he feels the need to defend himself to the shifter. 

He startles at the bard’s tittering laugh. “Oh even a toddler could see that he’s gone for you. Unfortunately, dear Aiden, these wolves are slightly inept when it comes to emotions and matters of the heart.” 

Aiden huffs out an amused breath. “Tell me about it. Last time we travelled together Lambert asked if I was headed to the brothel. I replied that I didn’t care to because I had my eye on someone special and _looked right at him.“_

“Let me guess,” Jaskier cuts in. “He looked crestfallen and muttered something about how happy he is that you have someone.” 

Aiden turns from the fight to stare at Jaskier in stunned silence. “Got it in one,” he finally murmurs.

Jaskier shakes his head, plucking the strings on his lute in a mindless melody. “Rookie mistake Aiden. These wolves need you to be direct. You gotta confront and corner them but only when their walls are low enough so they won’t run at the first sign of emotions.” 

Aiden groans, leaning his head back. “Have you met Lambert bard? His walls as you call them are several meters high and a couple kilometers deep. You’re asking for the impossible.” 

A secretive smile spreads across Jaskier’s face. “Trust me Aiden. I’m a wolf whisperer.” At the claim, Aiden relaxes with a hum, studying the confident repose of his companion. 

He’ll be honest and reflect that he was contemplating killing the bard when he heard he might be a shifter. But then he actually met the creature and he’s nothing like Aiden has ever seen. He handles the great White Wolf with an ease and nonchalance that would make others fear for their life. 

Aiden was chomping at the bit to see the man shift and was shocked when he didn’t turn into a mindless beast like some of the rumors claimed. No-he went to save a poor sap’s life. Curious creature indeed. Not to mention Lambert clearly holds a wealth of affection for the shifter. And if Jaskier thinks he can help Aiden finally win Lambert...well then, he’s alright in the Cat’s book. 

By all the gods Aiden literally told Lambert he loved him yesterday and the fool brushed him off like he didn’t believe him. Serves Aiden right for trying to actually be up front with him. “Sincerity” doesn’t really belong in Lambert’s vocabulary. Yet the bard thinks that's the way to go. Aiden sighs. He came to this old keep with the intent of finally winning Lambert but he’s run out of ideas over the years. Hopefully the bard has something new to suggest.

*******

“So-” Ciri bites her lip. “Are you ready to run for the hills?” 

E glances at her with an amused quirk of her lips before closing her eyes and sinking lower in the springs. “A bit more warning about _how_ overprotective your family was would have been nice,” she quips. Shrugging Ewa adds with a heavy sigh, “I was definitely thinking about fleeing but the cat convinced me to say.” 

Ciri slumps. Oh. She doesn’t blame Ewa for already wanting to leave. Ciri is about to tell E that she won't blame her for going back to Leon and their shop when the blacksmith peeks open her eyes and sighs with fond exasperation. 

Gathering Ciri in her arms so her back is pressed against her, Ewa props her chin on the other woman’s shoulder. “Love. When you said, ‘I may live in a family of witchers and shifters’ I had a general idea of what I was getting into. We’ll all warm up to each other, they’re just suspicious of newcomers, as they should be.” 

At Ewa’s soothing words and soft kiss to her neck Ciri relaxes in her partner’s steady grasp. “I know they’ll love you once they get to know you,” she insists, soaking up the familiar scent of metal and fire from her companion. She’s been slowly falling in love with the woman for the past year and a half and as they had grown more serious, Ciri wanted to introduce Ewa to the pack. After all, if the blacksmith can’t handle Ciri’s overbearing, overwhelming, and generally intimidating family, then their relationship can’t last. And Ciri really wants it to.

Gods, of course she’s had some fleeting romances over the years that she kept carefully hidden from Geralt and Jaskier, she’s not a bloody saint or an idiot. Considering one is a shifter and one is a witcher, it had been exhausting. But now Ciri has found someone she wants to keep, someone she wants to put the effort into. And that means sharing her with the pack. And by Melitele, E is just such a phenomenal creature. She is steady and calm in a way that Ciri needs; the way she bends and molds metal is like an art, while her crackling wit and contemplative remarks keep Ciri thinking and on her toes. 

Not to mention how Ewa is in bed. Ciri can’t believe Jaskier is making them stay in separate rooms. Well, she can believe it-Ciri is just irritated about it. She’ll just have to sneak over to E’s room-which coincidentally is on the other side of the bloody keep. Godsdamn overprotective wolves. Better take advantage of the privacy now then. 

Turning in E’s arms, Ciri presses her lips softly to her lover’s lips, smiling as she eagerly accepts it. “I thought we weren’t allowed to kiss when down here,” Ewa whispers, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, what they don’t know-” Ciri’s response is cut off by soft lips that taste like cherries, and any thoughts of the keep’s no kissing, groping, or fucking in public areas’ policy flies out the window. 

*******

Every head turns when Eskel and Marya walk into the dining hall with the stranger leaning on the witcher. Lambert watches with curiosity as Eskel gently places the guy in a chair across from Jaskier before brushing some hair out of his eyes. As Eskel pulls up a chair beside the man Lambert notes with interest how the stranger glances shyly at the witcher. Huh. Eskel works quick. 

As Lambert continues to watch the pair interact, he can’t help but contemplate his own situation. Gods but sparring with Aiden today was not good for the little sanity he has remaining. Lambert has known for awhile that his feelings for the Cat aren’t exactly platonic but it’s so hard to know how Aiden feels. The witcher flirts with everything that moves; it’s just part of his personality. If anything he probably wants to fuck Lambert and be done with it, which makes sense. Damaged goods don't make good relationship material. 

Flicking his gaze to where Aiden sits across from him Lambert swallows around a suddenly dry throat. The Cat is staring right through him, those amber eyes stripping away Lambert’s godsdamned composure. Does he have something on his mouth? Lambert wipes his face furtively but that only serves to earn a teasing smile on the other witcher's lips. And what a nice smile it is, even if it’s at his expense. Lambert wonders what those lips would taste like. 

Shaking his head to try clearing it, Lambert turns to where Geralt is glowering at the new girl. To her credit, Ewa doesn’t pay any attention to Geralt, engaging Jaskier and Ciri in a conversation about swords or some shit. Huh. Wait. That’s kinda interesting. Lambert starts tuning into their chatter and soon his anxiety over the meaning of Aiden’s stare fades to the background. 

Marya walks over to Vesemir, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. She has barely seen him these past 24 hours, too busy trying to keep Kamil alive. His healing is going well-a bit too well to be human in fact. She'll have to look into that later. As she settles beside her mate, Marya assesses the group before her with a discerning eye. It only takes a cursory glance to catch the dynamics forming between their pups. “Hmm,” she says contemplatively. Vesemir reaches over to clasp her hand in his.

Squeezing lightly, he rumbles, “Should be an interesting winter." 

Marya nods. “Indeed.” 

It’s been a long and stressful fucking day and Geralt just wants to curl up in a pile with his pack. But Lambert and Ciri have their heads pressed together wearing shit eating grins, which is not encouraging. He narrows his eyes. Before he can ask them what they’re up to in order to prevent anything from exploding Ciri calls, “Hey Jaskier and Marya!” 

When both shifters turn at their names the princess and witcher tilt up their heads and start howling. Immediately Jaskier and Marya shift forms before joining the howl. The rest of the table watch on, expressions ranging from bemused to shocked. Geralt just rubs his face tiredly. When the howl tapers off the two wolves blink with bafflement before shifting back to their human selves. 

Geralt and Vesemir release twin sighs of exasperation, rising to attempt to cover their mates’ remaining dignity, if there is any left. One day, perhaps the shifters will understand the meaning of modesty. Marya and Jaskier are blushing faintly and glaring at Ciri and Lambert who are giggling to themselves. As he finishes pulling on his trousers Jaskier places his hands on his hips before stuttering out, “Well that was just _rude.”_ Geralt chuckles, pressing a kiss to his embarrassed mate's cheek before returning to his seat. 

“Biscuit privilege revoked for a week,” Marya announces from behind Vesemir as the older witcher hands her some clothes. 

All at once Ciri and Lambert’s mirth evaporates. “Oh c’mon we weren’t even sure if that would work,” Lambert protests, falling back in his chair with a huff.

“I found it kinda charming,” Eskel remarks with a smirk.

“Besides, we haven’t had a chance for any pack bonding yet,” Ciri adds with a pout. At that final note Jaskier and Marya trade glances, nodding and shifting back as one before launching themselves at the mischievous duo. Vesemir and Geralt sigh again, moving to scoop up the discarded items of clothing before returning to their chairs. 

As the two witchers and shifters tussle on the ground Kamil turns to Eskel with a baffled expression. “Are they always like this?” he whispers to his dinner companion. 

The witcher ducks his head with a grin. Hmm. Interesting. “Yes and I apologize,” Eskel murmurs. “They can be...a lot.” 

As usual, 200+ pounds of fluffy wolf is no match for Lambert and Ciri, especially when the shifters begin to snuffle happily in the crook of their captives' necks. Geralt has been gripping the arms of his chair tightly to keep himself from joining the wrestling group that is quickly turning into a cuddle pile. But you know what? Fuck it. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. 

Scraping his chair back, Geralt strides over to the mass of sprawled limbs. “Let’s get more comfortable,” he rumbles, continuing his way out the door without pause. With all the new dynamics this year there has been an odd hesitance to open up the communal pack room again but Geralt has had enough. They only have a few months together and need to take advantage of it. And if the newcomers don’t like it, they can go fuck themselves. The Cat in particular. Geralt doesn’t like how he’s been eyeing Lambert. 

Aiden trails after the shifters and witchers curiously, the image of Lambert laughing in the dining hall seared into his brain. It’s quite rare for the Wolf to be so open with his joy and it is a beautiful sight. Aiden is itching to find out how to make Lambert laugh like that again when not holding something sharp. To have such unbridled glee directed towards him...Aiden may melt on the spot. 

The procession leads to a spacious room covered in rugs of all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Scattered throughout are random objects: books, daggers, herbs, gems, carvings. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of rhyme or reason to it all. As Aiden makes to enter the room he runs into the chest of the White Wolf. “This is for pack only. Stay the fuck out,” he growls. Aiden flicks his gaze behind Geralt’s shoulder to see that Lambert is too busy playfighting with Ciri, and the shifters to notice what’s going on. The rest of the witchers are watching the stand off from a distance, clearly not inclined or able to interfere. 

What could they possibly be doing in here that the White Wolf doesn’t want him to see? Though Aiden is burning with curiosity, he knows better than to push his luck. Shrugging lazily Aiden spins on his heel. “I’ve gotten a bit tired of being surrounded by wolves anyway,” he says languidly. 

As he retreats with his tail between his legs, Aiden can’t help but wonder if Lambert will notice he’s gone. And if he does, will he follow Aiden or remain with the rest of the group? Aiden wouldn’t blame him if Lambert decides to stay. Gods know that if there were any Cat witchers worth knowing still around he wouldn’t want to be apart from them either. As Aiden trudges back to his rooms, the warmth and sounds of laughter fade and a curious sort of loneliness sets into his chest like a lead weight. Odd. Aiden isn’t used to feeling lonely. 

He doesn’t like it. 

With the Cat gone, Geralt turns his attention to the other two newcomers, conflicted. Allowing two strangers into their sanctuary feels wrong but he doesn’t know what to say to get them to understand that it's nothing personal. Kamil speaks first from where he is leaning on Eskel. “Don’t worry, I won’t interfere with your family. I know I’m a stranger to you all.” 

Geralt simply nods gratefully, but frowns when Eskel hesitates. Turning to his companion the scarred witcher says hesitantly, “I can show you to the library? We have some interesting books.” 

The expression that crosses Kamil’s face is hard to read before he flashes Eskel a strained smile. “Maybe another time. I think I can make it to my rooms on my own. Thank you Eskel.” Since Kamil turns his back so quickly, he fails to see how Eskel’s shoulders sag. Geralt will have to ask him what that’s about. He’s barely seen his brother since they arrived; Eskel has spent nearly all day tending to the newcomer. 

Shouldering Geralt aside, Eskel slouches through the door, leaving him and Ewa alone. Before he can speak, the woman raises her hand to stop him. “Don’t worry; I get it.” Shrugging she says, “You can’t relax around people you don’t trust.” Then she reaches out her hand, waiting patiently while Geralt eyes it with a furrowed brow. When he finally takes it to shake Ewa murmurs, “I look forward to getting to know you more Geralt. I admire your protectiveness of your daughter-reminds me of what my parents used to be like.” And with a melancholy smile, the enigma of a woman trods away.

Releasing a breath, Geralt closes the door firmly before joining his pack. But the tension he was finally allowing to seep away returns when Ciri and Lambert look up from they are starting a fire. “Where’s everyone else?” Ciri inquires. Geralt only grunts, collapsing where Eskel and Jaskier are curled up. When he feels an insistent smack on his arm, Geralt growls and peeks over to see matching glares. Gods it’s days like these when he dearly wishes those two wouldn’t get along so well. 

“You know we won’t all be able to relax fully with strangers in our midst,” Eskel explains gently when Geralt isn’t forthcoming. By their silent scowls, Lambert and Ciri recognize this, even if they’re not happy about it.

“Stay or leave but make up your damn minds. It’s late and we have work to do tomorrow,” Vesemir grumbles from under a dozing wolf. 

Why does Lambert look so conflicted about this? It should be an easy answer. Yet the youngest witcher stares at the closed door for a long time, hand clenching and opening again. Finally, he releases a sigh before nudging Geralt roughly until he makes some space for Lambert to lie on some fur. Spoiled brat. A moment later, Ciri joins them and, surrounded by the smells and sounds of his pack, Geralt can breathe again.


	3. One Step Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations abound, emotions are felt, cats are scheming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Yeah 3 chapters should be solid based off of this outline, right?  
> The 4 new relationships I’m introducing in this fic: LOLOLOL  
> Me: 4 chapters?  
> These fools: We just have so many EMOTIONS let us EMOTE  
> Me: I-I just shouldn’t even give a chapter estimate, should I?  
> Lambert, from where he's scrambled up a tree to hide from Aiden and his emotions: YOU THINK??

Ewa considers herself a fairly competent individual. She’s had to be in order to survive this long. But despite her best attempts, she has yet to make any dent in the White Wolf’s armor. That’s alright though; she’s a blacksmith. If there’s one thing she knows, it’s how to be patient, working and molding material slowly until it bends. 

However, that doesn’t mean that she’s _thrilled_ to begin another day of interrogations and suspicious glares. Ewa breathes slowly through her nose when she arrives in the dining hall to see Geralt sitting with his arms crossed, no Ciri in sight. 

Before Geralt can ambush her though Marya sweeps in and hooks her arms through Ewa’s. “Come lass, let’s go for a walk,” she says briskly, spinning the other woman around and leading her out of the hall. “No brooding men allowed,” the shifter calls behind her, making Ewa snicker when she spots Geralt’s affronted expression from where he's halfway out of his seat. 

The pair walk in silence, Ewa watching Marya out of the side of her eye. She hasn’t interacted too much with the other woman but has witnessed her shift a couple of times. Marya’s wolf form is massive and intimidating, yet the woman herself is lean and mild. Despite Marya's playful nature when shifted though, Ewa has no doubt that the wolf could snap her neck if she was so inclined. It’s quite awe-inspiring. And just slightly terrifying.

While they made their way through the courtyard Ewa hadn’t really paid attention to where she was being led, but as they draw up to a small stone building, she cocks her head. At Marya’s wordless gesture to walk in, Ewa does so, gasping with delight at what she sees. Every surface is covered in dust and the various implements hanging on walls and shelves are rusted from disuse. But it is still _home._

Hurrying over to inspect the forge Ewa tsks. “Someone hasn’t been treating you right my love,” she croons. In her excitement to clean the place up so Ewa can dig her hands into some metal, she strips off her tunic to begin wiping off the years of dust. Humming to herself she mutters, “Once we get you looking spiffy I’ll have to test out your tools. Melitele’s tits I woulda brought my own if I knew they were mistreating you so.” 

Ewa jumps when a slender hand comes into her view, offering up some rags. Whirling around, Ewa feels her cheeks heat at Marya’s amused gaze. Oh _fuck_ what an image she must make. Hurriedly throwing her green tunic on again, now black from soot and dust, Ewa rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. “What can I pay you to _not_ report this back to Geralt?” she asks with a hint of desperation. 

Marya’s laugh is low and rough like coals scraped over a fire. “Anything done or said in here can remain between us lass,” she reassures Ewa with a clap of her shoulder. Ewa sags with gratitude. The last thing she needs is for the witcher to find more excuses to keep Ewa and Ciri apart to protect his daughter’s virtue or some shit. (Like she still has any remaining.) 

Propping her hands onto her hips Marya nods. “Thought you and I could clean this place up and chat.” Ah, clever woman. Ewa’s lips are always looser when her hands are busy. That’s how Ciri tricked her into saying “I love you” for the first time, the minx. 

Ewa can feel a fond smile crossing her lips at the thought of her starlight as she rolls up her grimy sleeves and begins dusting down the old forge. She can sense Marya behind her doing the same across the room. “So what do you wanna know?” Ewa asks as she starts clearing away the years of disuse. 

A contemplative hum sounds from the shifter. “How did you get into smithing?” Ewa’s elation at finding herself around such familiar surroundings fades slightly. She should have expected that question. In a habitual move, Ewa touches her ears briefly before shifting her hair so it covers them. “Our parents owned a shop in the outskirts of Hagge, and Leon and I practically grew up in it. I held my first hammer when I was 6, wrought my first iron when I was 10.” 

Ewa slows her work, eyes going distant as she’s transported to those simpler times. If she closes her eyes she can still hear her father’s bellowing laugh, her mother’s lullabies, smell their mixed scents of metal and leather and lavender. Tears threaten to stream down her face but Ewa stubbornly blinks them away. Studying the scorched work area she whispers, “But then the priests of the Eternal Fire came to place a shrine in our village. They weren’t too pleased when they discovered that a human married an elf.” Ewa swallows around a dry throat. “Leon and I only survived because the neighbors heard the screams.” 

For several moments Ewa focuses on taking slow, steady breaths to keep herself in the present and away from the nightmare of that day. Gods even a decade later it’s still raw; retelling the tale feels like digging her fingers into an open wound. She jumps when a grounding hand grips Ewa’s shoulder tightly. Turning, Ewa blinks into Marya’s face, lined with compassion and sorrow. But not pity, thank the gods. Ewa can’t stand pity. 

The half-elf stiffens when she is drawn into a tight hug but after a moment she allows herself to sink into the embrace, trusting the shifter’s strong arms to hold her up. Burying her face into Marya’s shoulder, Ewa allows herself to fall apart, just a little. She isn’t quite sure why all this emotion is pouring out; perhaps because Ewa hasn't told the tale in ages. Even Ciri doesn’t know the full story. Ewa has never mentioned her parents and Ciri has been kind enough not to ask, while the blacksmith has offered the same consideration. They should probably have a talk about that. 

Marya and Ewa stand like that for awhile as a wave of fresh grief continues to wash over the half-elf. Eventually, Marya murmurs in her ear. “Well my girl, if there is one thing your tale shows it is that you belong in Kaer Morhen. We all have some broken pieces, sweet.” At the term of endearment Ewa crumples in Marya’s arms, grateful that the shifter is strong enough for both of them. _Sweet._ How many times did her mum call her that? Distantly, Ewa registers that Marya is crooning something in her ear but the half-elf barely notices, too busy being transported to a life lost forever. 

*******

Ciri takes a slow breath before tapping Jaskier from where he is chatting with Kamil and Eskel. When the shifter turns to smile at her, Ciri bites her lip. Glancing apologetically at the injured man lounging in his bed Ciri asks, “Jas can I talk to you? Privately?” Jaskier’s grin softens. 

Patting Kamil on the leg the shifter remarks lightly, “I will leave you in the capable and handsome hands of Eskel,” before standing up. Ciri notes with interest when Eskel flashes a bashful smile and Kamil’s eyes brighten as he turns to the witcher. Hmm. Curious. 

Throwing his arm around Ciri’s shoulders, Jaskier guides her out of the room. Ciri leans into the embrace with a hum. She missed the solid weight of the shifter. As much as Ciri is thrilled that Jaskier and Geralt permitted her to travel on her own, there were many lonely nights where she longed for the grounding press of limbs and fur, the strum of a lute, the laughter of two men in love. 

Jaskier leads them down the steps and through the hallway until they make it to the communal cuddle room. Once they enter, Jaskier turns to Ciri with an inquiring brow. Ciri fidgets with the cuff of her sleeve. “Can you shift while we speak?” she requests, feeling unusually small. With a soft smile, Jaskier does so before dragging Ciri to the floor with him. 

Already Ciri feels some tension seep out of her as that familiar weight spreads across her lap. Digging her fingers into soft downy fur, Ciri presses her face against Jaskier with a sigh. “Missed you,” she murmurs, chuckling at the soft lick she gets in response. For awhile they simply sit there in silence, Ciri scratching Jaskier in all of his favorite places while the shifter rumbles happily atop her. 

They’ve been doing this since Ciri first had the sudden urge to share a nightmare while he was shifted, and it has only grown more frequent over time. Somehow, speaking of fears and doubts and worries and pain is easier when your audience is a fluffy wolf. 

“E doesn’t know who I really am,” she finally confesses quietly. “And it’s not fair to her. But if I tell her who I am, that I am the granddaughter of the woman who has massacred her people I-” Ciri breaks off, burying her face into Jaskier’s fur. With a whine, Jaskier turns so he can nuzzle at Ciri’s throat, licking off the tears flowing silently down her cheeks.

“I really care for her, you know?” she whispers brokenly, raising her head to gaze into those empathetic blue eyes. “I feel so selfish not telling E but I don’t wanna lose her.” Jaskier nudges at Ciri insistently until with a watery laugh she obeys the unspoken order and lays down. Sprawling across her, Jaskier snuffles in Ciri’s ear, something that never fails to make her smile no matter how dark her mood. The subsequent three tugs on her hair- Jaskier’s wolf version of I love you, soothes something hollow in Ciri’s chest. 

A moment later, Ciri finds her eyes drifting shut as she sinks into the comforting smell of the woods at night and the steady rumbling that has lulled her to sleep countless times before. 

When Ciri blinks open her eyes again, Jaskier is shifted back to human and stroking her hair gently from where her head rests in his lap. Huh-she didn’t realize how exhausted she was. Sitting up slowly, Ciri turns to face Jaskier, tangling their fingers together to help ground herself. 

A calloused hand as familiar as her own lifts her chin to face the shifter. Ciri swallows at the fire burning in his eyes. “Listen closely Cirilla,” he says firmly. “You cannot be blamed for the sins of another. You are a _wolf_ through and through and wolves protect the vulnerable and only kill when necessary.” 

The relief Ciri feels at that pronouncement, at how confident Jaskier says those words like he can’t imagine Ciri being anything else, is overwhelming. All her life Ciri has had the spectre of royalty and all its evils hang over her when all she wanted was to do good in the world, be a witcher. Hearing Jaskier call her a wolf and not a princess shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. 

But then Jaskier's face grows shadowed. Tugging her into a tight embrace Jaskier says fiercely, “If Ewa hates you for atrocities you had no hand in, then she does not deserve your heart.” Ciri squeezes her eyes shut at how much emotion lies in Jaskier’s words. Gods sometimes it can be overwhelming being the daughter of a wolf. A hand runs soothingly through her hair and Ciri melts into it.

“I won’t lie and say that it doesn’t worry me, having you reveal who you are, but if you are sure and want to share this part of yourself, I won’t stop you,” he murmurs. Pulling away slightly Jaskier smiles fondly. “You have the unfortunate habit of taking after both me and Geralt. You’ll do whatever you set your mind to even if it makes me grow gray hair.”

Ciri throws herself fully into Jaskier’s arms, her gratitude towards this man flooding through her chest as a weight she has been carrying for over a year and a half finally lifts slightly. Part of her thought that she shouldn’t feel guilt over Grandmother’s actions but Ciri needed to hear it from Jaskier to know for certain. (She knows while Geralt will defend Ciri to the ends of the earth, Jaskier has the ability to be unbiased when it's called for.)

Ewa deserves to know the truth. Telling her still terrifies Ciri but it needs to be done. Just...maybe after a few more minutes of cuddles. 

*******

When Kamil wakes from his nap Eskel is still at his bedside, reading a book with his legs propped up on the side table. The afternoon light streams through a window, softening the brutal scar across his face. A man who survives such a wound must have a wealth of strength, Kamil muses. 

Something he reads must have been funny because Eskel chuckles quietly to himself, the motion causing a piece of hair to fall over his eyes and the scar to dance across his face. Kamil wonders what the mark would feel like under his fingers, under his lips. Shaking his head out of the gutter, Kamil chastises himself. This guy stays at your bedside and this is how you thank him? 

“Reading something good?”

Kamil grins softly as Eskel jerks up, fumbling with his book in his hurry to look at him. 

Shifting in his seat so he is fully facing Kamil with his feet planted on the ground, Eskel passes the book between his hands in an act that almost looks nervous. It’s quite endearing. “Uh-yeah good book,” Eskel nods. “Wanna read it?” he asks, brandishing the text. 

Kamil’s smile vanishes as shame rushes through him. Turning to study his blankets Kamil picks aimlessly at a loose thread. “I-uh. I can’t,” he says softly. Silence stretches over the room and Kamil has the desperate urge to hide. As a child he had longed to pick up the books on his father’s shelves. He learned quickly and brutally why such an action was a poor idea. There were many lessons he learned that way in his father's household. 

All his life Kamil has watched from afar as people read books with ease, desperate to be one of them. But by the time he had escaped his home and set off on his own, Kamil was too old for anyone to take him seriously when he expressed a wish to learn how to read. 

And now he’s in the presence of a mythical witcher, one whose vicious scarring is undercut by gentle hands and soulful eyes. One who _reads._ How pathetic must Kamil, a lowly illiterate human, seem to him?

“Do-do you want to?” Eskel finally asks hesitantly. Kamil’s head shoots up and meets hopeful golden eyes, no derision in sight. He fiddles with the thread he’s managed to tug out of his sheet. 

With a breath, Kamil echoes the response he has faced countless times before. “I’m a bit too old to learn how to read, wouldn’t you say?” 

A scornful snort sounds from his companion, making Kamil shrink, blinking away tears of shame. “Whoever told you that is a horse’s arse,” Eskel sneers. Distantly, Kamil is surprised at how angry the even-tempered witcher sounds. But most of his attention is on Eskel’s next words. “You’re never too damn old to learn shit. Just ask Geralt. He learned only a few years ago how to use his bloody words and express emotions.” As he continues to speak the fury that had colored Eskel’s words fades away until all that’s left is fondness and warmth. 

Leaning forward, Eskel squeezes Kamil’s lax fingers. “I am happy to teach you if you wish Kamil,” he says firmly. Kamil gazes wordlessly into the witcher’s eyes, searching for any sign of mocking or malice. But all the shining orbs show him is a sincerity and kindness that hurts Kamil’s heart at its strength. Oh gods. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this. 

*******

Jaskier is on a very particular mission and phase one is about to be set in motion. He watches as Geralt and Lambert spar and waits for when they pause for breath. “You know, I bet a dip in the spring would feel pretty nice right now,” Jaskier suggests, a picture of innocence. 

“Hmm,” Geralt responds, raising his eyebrows at Lambert from where the younger witcher is sprawled out in the middle of the courtyard. 

Nodding Lambert groans, “I could use that.” 

Jaskier grins before slipping away. Time for phase two. He finds Aiden laboring to repair the north wall under Vesemir’s stern watch. Sauntering over Jaskier drawls, “Aiden has been working hard today Vesemir. Don’t you think he deserves a break?” 

As the elder witcher looks at him with an inquiring brow, Jaskier winks. The old wolf wants to avoid the stench of pining? Then he better let Jaskier do his job. After a moment Vesmeir gives a begrudging nod. Aiden watches the exchange with bemusement as he shoves a stone into place. “Come along Aiden, let me give you a proper tour of the keep,” Jaskier says cheerfully, turning on his heel. Aiden trails behind him wordlessly, curious amber eyes burning into Jaskier’s skull. 

When Aiden and Jaskier arrive in the hot springs, Lambert and Geralt are lounging in them as planned. Lambert is in the middle of telling an undoubtedly dirty joke while rubbing soap in his hair when he spots Aiden. The hardened witcher squeaks, soap flying out of his grasp and hitting an unamused Geralt in the face. 

Aiden smirks at Jaskier, finally understanding what the shifter was planning. Slowly, languidly, the Cat begins unbuckling the various straps to his armor and piling them in a corner, not taking his eyes off of his target. When he starts working on unbuttoning his tunic Lambert’s eyes begin to bulge out. 

Without a word, the youngest witcher scrambles out of the spring. Gathering all of his clothes and covering his crotch, Lambert shuffles out of the room, muttering something about checking on the stove. Jaskier sighs with disappointment before patting Aiden on the back reassuringly. “The seeds are planted my friend, now we will continue to sow them,” he states sagely. 

Geralt is glaring at Aiden but the Cat ignores it, finishing stripping off his clothes before slipping into the springs with a sigh. “Thanks for showing me this place bard,” he groans, rolling his head loosely, clearly covering up his own disappointment. With a growl, Geralt hauls himself out, snatching his clothes and stalking away. Jaskier watches him go, biting his lip worriedly. He best check on his mate after he’s cooled down.

*******

After Kamil returns to his rooms to rest, Geralt finds Eskel in the library, head in his hands. “Wanna talk?” Geralt grunts.

Eskel laughs hoarsely. “I must look pretty pathetic if Geralt of Rivia is volunteering to talk,” he remarks wryly. 

“Hm. One time only offer.” 

Eskel watches out of the corner of his eye as Geralt settles into an opposite chair, the one previously occupied by Kamil not a half hour ago. Blowing out a heavy sigh, Eskel leans back in his chair. He might as well take advantage of the offer. “He’s human,” Eskel states frankly, studying the cracked ceiling. 

“Hmm.” Even Eskel knows that’s a prompting hum. Gods, Jaskier really does have every right to tease them about being monosyllabic oafs. 

Eskel rakes a hand through his hair despairingly. “He’s human, but Geralt he’s _enthralling.”_ Hunching forward, Eskel clasps his hands together. “I want to know everything about him and-” 

“It’s terrifying,” Geralt finishes. Eskel flicks a surprised look up at Geralt who is frowning to the side. Tapping a fist to the arm of the chair Geralt rumbles, “For 20 years I thought Jaskier was human. Lost count of how many times I tried pushing him away to spare myself the grief.” Golden eyes turn to meet his own. “I got lucky. Not all of us can be. But if you have a chance to feel joy, feel love, don’t waste it.” 

A heavy hand settles onto Eskel’s shoulder as Geralt rises. “You deserve to be happy Eskel.” And with that earth-shattering pronouncement, Geralt plods away. 

Eskel sits still for a long moment, running Geralt’s words through his head. Is it worth it? More importantly, does Kamil even feel drawn to Eskel the same way? 

Who is Eskel kidding? Of course he doesn’t. Kamil is probably going to flee down the mountain as soon as he’s healed enough. And with how rapidly he seems to be healing, that shouldn’t be long at all. Fuck. 

*******

Jaskier finds Geralt in their room, shoulders tense as he draws in his sketchbook. A burst of pride shoots through him at the sight. It took quite a lot of patience and tenderness to get Geralt to be comfortable with drawing in the light, let alone with Jaskier around. Dear Melitele, how his wolf has grown. 

Jaskier crawls into the bed, slipping between Geralt and a pillow so he can watch the witcher’s motions over his shoulder. Jaskier hums contemplatively when he realizes that Geralt has been drawing Ewa, Kamil, and even Aiden. He knows that the witcher is floundering with such a change in routine and drawing helps him stay calm and process. 

Though several thoughts come to mind, Jaskier chooses to keep his mouth shut. Over the years, the bard has gotten a better read on when to fill the air with chatter and when to step back and wait for Geralt to gather the words he needs. “The Cat wants to fuck Lambert,” Geralt grumbles, the charcoal pressing a tad too hard on the lines of Aiden’s face. The witcher growls with frustration as he tries to correct the image. 

“The Cat is in _love_ with Lambert,” Jaskier gently corrects, wincing when his words cause Geralt to snap his implement. Wordlessly, Jaskier reaches towards the bag of art supplies he's purchased over the past year and hands his mate a new piece of charcoal. The one problem with drawing as a coping mechanism is the fragility of its tools, Jaskier muses to himself. Silence falls again as Geralt places single-minded focus on illustrating the Cat. Though Jaskier doubts it will help matters, he adds, “And Lambert is in love with Aiden.” 

Geralt slams the notebook shut and stares into the distance, body thrumming with tension. “I don’t trust him,” he finally grits out, fingers clenching around the book. 

Concerned over the durability of the flimsy thing, Jaskier gently plucks it from his love’s grasp before wrapping his arms around the stolid body before him. “Then let him try to earn your trust, yes?” he requests. 

“Hmm,” Geralt mumbles, subtly leaning back into Jaskier’s embrace. Jaskier hides his grin in Geralt’s shoulder. Poor Aiden is going to have to jump through hoops and will most likely fear for his life when he and Lambert finally get their shit together. 

*******

Roach tilts her head as she assesses the two stallions flanking her. Midnight arrived with new one and though he has a very lovely scent, Roach isn't interested. He’s far too full of himself. There are many new ones this cold time, Roach thinks to herself.

When she turns to Scorpion in the next stall, she makes her decision. With a low nicker, Roach begins to sniff Scorpion before nuzzling him lightly. Scorpion’s eyes widen as he turns fully to Roach. Roach releases an amused huff. Poor Scorpion has been eyeing Roach for many cold times with gentle one’s herd. Now he doesn’t know what to do. 

Tossing her head, Roach nudges more insistently at Scorpion, licking him so he would get a clue. Does Roach have to do everything? Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. But just then Scorpion raises his nose in the air and curls his lip before nuzzling Roach. _Yes?_ Roach flicks her tail happily. _Yes._

*******

Dandelion finds wild one sitting on a tall thing. Dandelion likes tall things, he’s learned. There are many tall things here. Wild one hasn’t pet Dandelion yet but he stares at Dandelion when Dandelion is in litter mate’s lap. So Dandelion knows that wild one wants to pet Dandelion. Who wouldn’t want to? Dandelion is very soft. Climbing delicately over an arm and leg, Dandelion curls into wild one’s lap with a purr. Very nice lap. Dandelion approves.

Dandelion is dozing when he feels a light touch on his back. He purrs louder. Dandelion knew that wild one couldn’t resist pets. No one ever can. 

Lambert stares with wide eyes at the tiny creature allowing him to pet it. How can it be so comfortable in Lambert’s lap? Doesn’t it realize what he is? The anxiety swirling in his head since the hot springs begins to ease as the cat doesn’t make any move to run yowling in the opposite direction. 

Closing his eyes, Lambert raises his head to breathe in the crisp winter air. Storm’s coming. Good thing he has something soft. Hmm. Lambert may just need to hold onto the cat. You know, to protect it from the storm. 

With his eyes closed, Lambert fails to see the amber gaze looking up from the ground to watch him fondly as he cradles a cat in his arms. On silent footsteps, the witness plods away, giving Lambert some privacy. Best not to push his luck today. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to read and comment on this thing! For those of you wonderful individuals whose ideas I am shamelessly using, I plan to thank and credit you all in my final author's note. I am just far too disorganized to attempt to collect all the usernames right now...


	4. An Ordinary Snowy Day In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamil is definitely 100% human...Right? Meanwhile, Lambert acts like the calm, rational, emotionally intelligent, well-adjusted adult that he is.

“I called it,” Lambert states smugly from where he’s seated by the hearth, Dandelion curled up in his lap. He doesn’t blink as several faces turn to glare at him. They’ve been cooped up for several hours since an early winter blizzard swept through the keep. Stepping outside is blinding; you can’t see a meter in front of you. So that means no training, no hunting, and very little warmth. 

Marya is using the time to bake biscuits while Jaskier and Ciri hover over her, begging for scraps. Geralt and Vesemir are playing a very intense game of Gwent that no one is brave enough to interrupt. Meanwhile, Aiden and Ewa are playing with several sharp objects with manic gleams in their eyes and Kamil is watching in bemusement as Eskel paces fretfully. “I’m sorry,” the witcher finally bursts out. Kamil tilts his head from the bed Eskel insisted on hauling down from his room. It was a bit overboard considering Kamil’s injuries are mostly healed. Whatever Marya put into those salves and potions are miracle workers. 

“For what?” he asks. 

Eskel pauses his frantic movement and Kamil takes the moment to admire the man’s toned back, hunched though it currently is. “This storm is going to close the pass,” Eskel mumbles. “You’ll be stuck here for the rest of winter.” 

Kamil feels a burst of hope in his chest. He had been grappling with how to broach the topic because he was desperate to stay. After all, there is nothing waiting for him out there. “Good.” 

Eskel whirls around to stare incredulously at him. “What?” 

Kamil shrugs with a sheepish smile. “Why wouldn't I want to? Your pack is...everything I have ever wanted. I would be honored to remain here for the season.” Kamil bites his lip before he says too much. Like how he longs to spend time with Eskel, perhaps even beyond winter. 

Eskel’s eyes widen and he takes a step forward. “You mean that,” he says, almost to himself. “Huh.” The witcher’s eyes grow distant, as though Kamil has said something profound. Is it that groundbreaking for a human to say that he wants to spend time with a group of witchers and shifters? Kamil clearly needs to show Eskel and the others how little they faze him. 

Yes, of course Kamil was intimidated and nervous when he fully realized exactly _where_ he was, but it took less of a day for him to grow comfortable here. He's used to being an outcast, after all, and what is Kaer Morhen but a refuge for those others deride? And who could be afraid when Eskel, the gentle giant he is, tends to them?

Picking up the book resting on his bed Kamil glances up at the still astounded witcher. Raising it, Kamil asks tentatively, “Can we do some more reading today?” That seems to shake Eskel out of his reverie and the witcher strides over to Kamil eagerly. Though the symbols swim on the page without sense of meaning, Kamil loves listening to Eskel's soft baritone read and explain what each letter is. He could do it for hours.

Eskel hovers awkwardly over the bed before Kamil pats the spot beside him with a welcoming smile. “Plenty of room here,” he offers. An unreadable expression flashes across Eskel’s face before he nods slowly and gently settles beside him. The witcher’s shoulder brushes against Kamil and Eskel stiffens. When Kamil leans into the touch though, the witcher slowly relaxes before cracking open the book to where they last left off. 

*******

Marya has made enough biscuits for an army and it still won’t be enough. Jaskier and Geralt are shoveling the treats in their mouths methodically as they survey the various pairs scattered across the room. ”Were we this bad?” Geralt asks, eyeing how Ewa and Aiden are gazing longingly across the room to where Ciri and Lambert are playing knucklebones.

“Oh darling,” Jaskier sighs, stuffing another biscuit in his mouth. “I’m fairly sure we were ten times worse.” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Geralt remarks idly, tilting his head curiously at where the Cat is smiling softly at Lambert’s theatrics as he loses. Huh. Not really the expression of a cold blooded murderer. Geralt doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Rising, he decides he needs a distraction. Geralt reaches into the pack he carried down with him when he realized they were all going to be crammed inside and would inevitably become stir crazy. He pulls out two leather bound balls that he purchased in Kaedwen while Jaskier was busy eating up the local gossip. “Hey Marya and Jaskier,” he calls. When the two shifters turn to him Geralt grins before tossing the balls across the room.

In a flash the pair shift and race after the toys and everyone in the room turns to watch, mouths gaping. While Jaskier returns eagerly to Geralt, Marya runs into Vesemir’s legs in her excitement. Vesemir stares down at Marya with a mixture of shock and delight. Slowly, he pulls the ball out of the shifter’s mouth and throws it, watching with an incredulous smile as she chases after it. 

Geralt nods with satisfaction. This should provide a suitable distraction, especially when Marya fully processes what she's doing. Gods, Geralt hopes he doesn't get his Biscuit Privileges revoked again.

*******

Eskel frowns at the disturbed expression on Kamil’s face as he watches what is essentially a game of fetch with two grown ass adults. “I know it can be unsettling, watching humans shift into animals,” Eskel offers.

“Huh?” Kamil says distractedly. Turning to look at Eskel’s worried face Kamil shakes his head, trying to clear it. “No it’s not that. Just-whenever those two shift I feel a sort of...tugging? In my chest?” Kamil gestures uselessly at himself, brow furrowed. “And the pain I feel in my bones increases.” 

Eskel stiffens, eyes widening. “What pain in your bones? Why didn’t you tell us there was another injury?” Eskel’s hands hover helplessly over Kamil like he’s afraid to touch but desperate to as well. 

Kamil smiles softly. “Don’t worry Eskel, I’ve lived with it my whole life. Never could figure out the cause of it,” he says with a careless shrug. 

Eskel gapes at him before shaking his head furiously. “No,” he says firmly. “We’re getting to the bottom of this.” The witcher storms over to where Marya and Jaskier are tussling over a ball, Lambert and Ciri giggling from where they’re hiding the second one. Whatever Eskel says stops the play instantly, and Kamil can’t help a flash of guilt. Why did he mention his chronic pain? It’s nothing new and nothing special. 

A moment later Marya is looming over him, fists propped on her hips. “Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?” she barks. Kamil shrugs, shrinking at the curious gazes now surrounding him. At Eskel’s glare everyone disperses but Marya and the scarred witcher.

“I knew it wasn’t from the wargs,” Kamil explains simply. “I’m used to it.” 

Marya is shaking her head with a frown. “Regardless of the origin, the pain potions should have helped it.” 

Kamil releases a hoarse laugh, lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Oh, I’ve tried every pain remedy under the sun. Nothing works.” 

Marya pulls up a chair beside him, elbows propped on her lap and expression solemn. “Tell me when it began. Describe how it feels.” 

Kamil sighs tiredly, leaning his head back. How many healers has he visited and reported to at this point? One starts to lose track after awhile. “I’ve been in pain for as long as I remember. My bones throb and ache constantly, with spurts of a sharp stabbing feeling as well. It’s like they're trying to bend and contort themselves.” 

Tired of repeating the same thing over the years, Kamil has his eyes closed so he misses Marya shooting Vesemir a questioning glance, gesturing him over. The older wolf, who hadn’t spent any time with the stranger yet, walks forward to take a careful whiff, eyes widening before he nods. 

Marya’s gaze sharpens and she leans forward. “Kamil. Tell me about your parents,” she demands. 

Kamil's face shutters and he responds numbly, “My father was a bastard. I barely knew my mother. When I was a boy I remember her and my father fighting. She told me to visit my friends. When I came back home she was gone.” 

A cool palm grasps his hand and Kamil opens his eyes to glower at Marya. He hates talking about his past. 

The woman’s blue eyes are burning with a fire Kamil has never seen, taking him aback. “Kamil,” she says steadily. “I need you to trust me and follow my every direction.” Kamil studies her dubiously before nodding slowly. She’s the reason he’s alive after all; might as well humor her. “Close your eyes,” she gently commands. Once he does so, Marya’s voice turns soft and lilting, soothing. “I want you to look within yourself. Deeply, farther than you’ve ever gone. There is a piece of yourself you’ve been missing pup, search for it.” 

Kamil frowns and is about to open his eyes and ask what in all the hells is going on when calloused fingers grip his other hand. “Trust her Kamil,” Eskel murmurs. Kamil takes a breath, recalling the long hours the witcher has spent by Kamil’s side. He’ll do it for Eskel's sake. 

As requested, Kamil drifts in his head, searching for what is missing. He thought that he had found the missing piece of himself when he first bound his chest. What else could he be lacking?

“Listen to your bones lad,” Marya calls distantly. “What do they want?”

What do they want? They want to snap Kamil in half! Fingers squeeze his hand and Kamil takes a steadying breath. _Listen to my bones, huh?_ he thinks sardonically. Kamil focuses on how they scream at him, begging to move. He grits his teeth, fighting to resist the call as terror flashes through him.

“It’s okay Kamil. Allow it to happen,” Marya hushes. Allow it? Why? 

Kamil releases a shaky sigh. He's so tired of the pain. _Fine. You want to snap me in half, bones? Go for it._

Kamil screams in agony as the pain that has always been in the foreground of his mind amplifies, consuming his every thought and overwhelming his senses. White light flashes behind his eyelids and he spasms and contorts, every bone and muscle and tendon screaming. 

The agony goes on for what feels like hours when suddenly, all at once, it vanishes. All of it. For the first time in his life Kamil feels no pain whatsoever. 

Gasping for breath, Kamil opens his eyes to find himself cradled in strong arms. Kamil looks down at himself and shouts, panicking even more when the sound out of his mouth is an animal’s yip. 

He’s covered in honest to gods fur. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. 

Suddenly a gray wolf comes into his view and presses its muzzle to Kamil’s neck. _Cousin_ a voice deep within him whispers. Kamil can only blink incredulously, panic buzzing through his mind. 

Behind the wolf Jaskier is bouncing on his toes excitedly and being held back by Geralt. “Oh my gods oh my gods KAMIL YOU'RE A FOX SHIFTER!!”

He strains against the witcher’s grip and begins to shift but Geralt drags him back to his chest. “Don’t overwhelm him,” Geralt rumbles. Kamil gazes at all the faces staring with a mixture of shock and excitement coloring them. He decides it's best to pass out. 

*******

Ciri creeps up to where Ewa is finishing sharpening a sword, eyeing the pile of furry limbs curiously. “So, you’re not going to suddenly transform into something unexpected as well, are you?” she asks the blacksmith. 

Placing down her materials Ewa crosses her arms with a grin. “Hmm...no promises.” 

Ciri rolls her eyes before wrapping her arms around Ewa. “We need to talk,” she murmurs. Ewa stiffens. Well that’s not ominous at all. She allows herself to be dragged to a corner while Ewa's mind races. Is this it? It would make sense; she’s an outsider here; the only non-witcher or shifter. And it's not like Geralt has warmed up to her at all. 

They settle on the floor facing each other in the opposite side of the room from the rest of the keep. Ciri toys with Ewa’s fingers for a minute before dropping them with a sigh. Keeping her gaze fixed to the ground Ciri whispers, “I haven’t been truthful about what I am. And I don’t blame you if you hate me once I tell you.”

“If you tell me you don’t like women that’s gonna be a bit awkward,” Ewa jokes weakly, desperately trying to chase away the darkness marring her lover’s face. 

Ciri’s lips twist into a semblance of a smile before looking up to meet Ewa’s gaze. She takes a deep breath. “My full name is Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon of Cintra." 

Ewa stares at the woman before her with incomprehension. Ciri? Her starlight? The Ciri who enters belching contests in taverns and dances under the moon and launches herself at any fool who spits at Ewa when they see her ears? 

Oh. Of course. “Are you with me only as penance?” The question drags out of Ewa’s mouth like metal on stone. 

Hands that have patched Ewa’s burns and held her through nightmares and lit her body up with ecstasy grasp her knees tightly. “No! Of course not! E-for Melitele’s sake I’m in love with you because you’re gorgeous and hilarious and brilliant and talented and you make me feel safe and strong and when I’m in your arms I’m _home_ and-“ 

Ewa cuts off the rush of words, claiming those lips that whisper words of sin and love in equal parts. That’s all she needed to hear. Ciri melts into the kiss with a sob, fumbling her arms around Ewa and dragging herself into the blacksmith's lap. Ewa drags the pad of her thumb across Ciri’s face to wipe away the tears falling steadily down her cheeks. “Thank you,” Ciri gasps, licking into Ewa’s mouth hungrily like a woman starved.

Ewa strokes a hand through her starlight’s (a bloody _princess'_ ) hair with a hum before pulling apart to look into shining green yes. It's going to take some time to fully process that she's apparently dating the fucking granddaughter of the lioness of Cintra. But Ciri is nothing like that murderer, Ewa knows that as well as she knows how to mold ore. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Ewa murmurs, tucking a loose lock of hair behind Ciri’s ear. She hesitates before the words flow out. It’s only fair. “My parents were murdered in front of me by religious fanatics. That’s why I never mention them.”

Ewa’s throat closes up, preventing her from saying more. Searching her gaze, Ciri leans forward and presses a tender kiss on Ewa’s forehead, on her nose, on her lips. “I would love to hear what they were like if you wish to share,” she breathes. 

Ewa’s eyes burn. “They woulda loved you,” she chokes out. Gazing around the room at the various creatures working very hard not to look this way she adds, “They woulda loved everyone here.” And no longer able to hold back the tears of sorrow, she lets them fall. It’s alright, Ciri is there to hold her up. 

*******

Geralt is staring at where Ciri and Ewa are curled up across the room, fingers wrapped around his arm chair in a white knuckled grip. The White Wolf’s thinly disguised panic over his daughter canoodling with her lover is a welcome distraction from Eskel’s reeling thoughts. Kamil isn’t human. Shit. Fuck. This both complicates and simplifies things. 

The problem is, Kamil isn’t afraid of him. Isn’t repulsed by his scars or intimidated by his hulking body. Kamil smiles softly at Eskel and touches him without fear and voluntarily spends time with him and is funny and sweet and gentle and everything life as a witcher is not. Eskel would only contaminate his purity, no doubt. And now they’ll have an entire winter together. And Eskel doesn’t have the excuse of him being human to avoid getting closer. 

Fuck fuck fuck. What does he do?

Eskel stares at where the fox shifter (what the _fuck_ ) is curled up with Marya and Jaskier. He’s been passed out for close to an hour, which would be worrying if not for Vesemir’s reassurance. “That man has gone his entire life without a shift,” he says, gazing at the pile of fur reflectively. “The fact that he survived the agony of not shifting frequently is remarkable.” Turning to assess Eskel with kind gray eyes Vesemir states patiently, "Your man is exhausted.” 

Eskel sputters. “He’s-I’m-” but Vesemir has already rolled his eyes and wandered away to track down where Lambert has hidden the final biscuit. 

Eskel is still stammering when he hears a distressed yelp. Spinning around, the witcher’s heart aches as he watches the panicked fox scramble to run before being restrained by the two other shifters. It’s not safe for them to just let Kamil flee, even if that’s what his instincts say to do. Though he was advised to keep his distance, Eskel can’t stop himself from approaching the frantic shifter. “Hey Kamil,” he murmurs, and all at once the fight goes out of the fox. 

Two emerald green eyes turn to look at Eskel and the witcher can’t help but release a mournful whine at the terror and confusion written there. When Kamil gives no further indication of fleeing, Eskel continues forward, kneeling before the shifter. Raising a palm, Eskel smiles when the shifter leans forward and sniffs him curiously. 

At this point, Marya and Jaskier have released him with relief, and Kamil starts to creep closer to Eskel. The witcher stays frozen, carefully regulating his breathing as the shifter investigates him, peering into his face and sniffing his neck. When Kamil moves to snuffle in Eskel’s ear, the witcher’s composure fades and he can’t stop a chuckle from leaking out. The tentative wag he gets in return is encouraging. 

Projecting his movements, Eskel slowly places a hand in the fox’s fur, grinning when he’s allowed. “Soft,” he murmurs. His smile widens when Kamil tentatively licks across his face. “I know you must be confused and scared right now but we’ve got your back, okay?” he says softly, running his fingers through soft orange-brown fur. He assumes the nuzzle he receives in response is agreement. 

While he talked to Kamil, Marya and Jaskier had shifted back and now stand behind Eskel, holding Kamil’s discarded clothes. “We’re gonna talk you through the shift back now, okay cuz?” Jaskier says with a reassuring grin. Though the shifter whines and peels back his ears, Kamil gives a small nod. Glancing around the room full of curious eyes, Marya nods to the kitchen. "I’ll drop your clothes off in there and you can change.” Marya smiles at the hesitant nuzzle she gets in answer. Scratching the shifter’s ears Marya hums, “I’ll answer all your questions once you change back.” 

As the duo walk away a fresh wave of anxiety washes of Eskel. How is Kamil going to react once he’s shifted back again? Will he resent them for forcing his shift? Retreat within himself out of fright? 

Eskel is knocked out of his racing thoughts by a pair of strong arms wrapping around him minutes later. He jolts before looking down into a mop of brown hair. “Thank you for the help Eskel,” Kamil murmurs. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Eskel slowly returns the embrace, propping his chin atop the shorter man’s head. “I’m sorry for the shock and the trouble,” he mumbles. Eskel bites back on the bereft whine when Kamil pulls away, though his breath catches in his throat at the ensuing beatific smile spreading across the shifter’s face. Oh gods what did Eskel do to deserve such an expression being directed towards him? 

“Eskel-I’m no longer in pain.” Kamil releases a joyous laugh, raking his fingers through his hair with an incredulous shake of his head. “I never thought this day would come-I had tried everything!” Eskel can’t stop the surprised flinch when he is hugged once again, before sinking into the other man’s welcoming arms. 

Huh. He could get used to these. “I’ve never felt lighter or happier,” Kamil breathes into Eskel’s shoulder. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve fully processed the fact that I’m apparently a fucking _fox_ but-” Kamil cuts himself off just to smile. “I’m so happy,” he finishes in a whisper. 

Eskel has to fight against the powerful urge to find out what such joy tastes like. Instead he swallows and returns the grin. Kamil's elation is contagious, what can he say? “I’m happy for you,” he says warmly, and he truly means it. The rest he can figure out later. 

*******

From the opposite side of the room, Lambert and Aiden watch the proceedings with looks of longing and interest respectively. During all the excitement Dandelion slipped out of Lambert’s lap and is now snoozing where Vesemir naps in his chair, biscuit half-eaten. It became immediately apparent to Aiden that Lambert is feeling a bit bereft without a furry companion of his own. 

Looking slyly at his companion Aiden purrs, “You know kitten, if you’re looking for something to cuddle I’m always available.” Aiden watches fondly as Lambert fumbles the dagger he was idly flipping. 

Glancing furtively at Aiden, Lambert seems to settle on a decision. Straightening his back Lambert stares at him. “You wanna fuck?” he asks abruptly. Aiden blinks. Well, that wasn’t the response he expected. 

“Among other things, yes,” Aiden responds slowly. 

Lambert’s determination falters at that, and confusion flashes across his face. “Other. Things?” Aiden has to bite his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot at the befuddled expression on the Wolf’s face as Lambert tilts his head curiously. 

Feeling brave, Aiden reaches out to brush the back of his fingers along Lambert’s cheek, admiring how golden eyes flutter closed at the light touch. “Things like holding you, kissing you, curling up with you at night,” Aiden murmurs. “Like spending slow mornings and lazy evenings together and travelling across the Continent side by side.” 

Aiden feels an emotion he distantly registers as anxiety when Lambert’s face shutters at his words. Then the Wolf punches Aiden in the face. In a burst of energy he jumps up, glaring down at Aiden, his frame thrumming with barely restrained fury, before he storms out of the room. 

Well. Not the reaction he was hoping for. 

Aiden sits frozen, staring into the air while his usually active mind draws a blank on what to do next. He always has a contingency plan. How curious. 

A pair of worried blue eyes swim before him. “What happened?” the bard asks frantically. 

Aiden blinks up at him. “Told Lambert I want him. Don’t think he took it well.” His voice sounds odd, almost weak. All kinds of strange things are happening to Aiden today. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier hisses. “I was worried about that.” Firm hands grip his shoulders. “Listen to me Aiden: he is absolutely gone for you but the git isn’t used to good things happening to him without a catch.” His eyes harden. “Convince him you’re sincere before he does something dumb. Pin him to the ground if you have to.” 

Usually Aiden chafes at being given orders. This is one he is relieved to receive. Standing up, yet feeling oddly disconnected from his body, Aiden races out into the storm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides behind a fortress of pillows* Don’t forget you love me? Right?


	5. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA the chapter where the patient cat is tired of waiting for the wolf to get hit by the clue bat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I THINK THE CHAPTER COUNT IS ACCURATE THIS TIME

When Aiden skids outside, the chill seeps straight through his clothes and into his bones. “LAMBERT!” He shouts, but his voice is swept away by the wind. The snow is blinding and even with his enhanced vision Aiden can’t see in front of him. “Where the bloody hell are you, you fucking idiot?!” Oh when Aiden gets his hands on him…

Raising his arm over his face to try to gain at least some meager protection from the wind and snow, Aiden pushes forward, gritting his teeth against the cold. Lambert couldn’t have gone far, not in this weather. “I swear when I find you-” but Aiden is cut off by a wild fist flying toward his face. Staggering at the impact Aiden spits out blood with a growl. That’s it. 

Launching himself in the direction of the fist, Aiden tackles Lambert to the ground and they fall into the deep snow. Lambert snarls and rolls to gain the upper hand but as angry and confused and scared as the Wolf is, he has nothing on the frustration of a Cat. Wrapping his legs around Lambert’s waist, Aiden flips them before pulling out a knife from his belt and placing it to the Wolf's throat. Lambert freezes, eyes flicking to the blade and back up to him. The storm howls all around them as the snow falls in earnest, but that’s all ignored while they stare at each other in suspended silence. 

“You gonna kill me ‘cause I don’t find you funny Cat?” Lambert asks, oddly calm. 

Aiden snaps.

“I love you, you jackass!” Aiden shouts, gripping Lambert’s shirt and shaking him. “I love your grumpiness and your insults and the way you pretend you don’t care about shit when I know you care more than most fucking humans and I want to spend my life with you, you absolute _shit stick!”_

Aiden ends his confession, panting as he remains straddled over the Wolf, dagger unwavering. Then he braces for another punch when Lambert grasps Aiden by his collar and drags him closer. Despite his precarious position, Aiden can’t help but admire how Lambert’s eyes glow with an ethereal light in the storm. “You taking the piss?” the Wolf asks quietly, a spark of vulnerability within his glare. 

“I swear on my swords I tell the truth,” Aiden breathes, eyes asking Lambert to believe him. 

And then he’s being kissed. It’s a violent kiss, a challenge, a dare. Aiden meets its ferocity with his own before cradling Lambert’s cheek and guiding him into something gentler, pouring his emotion into every press of his lips. A shiver racks through the body beneath him, but whether it’s from chill or want is unclear. 

After a long moment, those enthralling eyes flicker open, pupils blown wide. “I’m freezing my bollocks off,” Lambert complains, before smirking with false confidence. “Why don’t we warm each other up?” Aiden sighs to himself. Lambert needs to understand Aiden doesn’t just want to fuck him but they’re also going to freeze to death if they stay out here any longer.

Rolling his eyes at the horrid come on, Aiden drags the other witcher to his feet before kissing him heatedly again. “Lead the way, kitten.” 

*******

Lambert is fine. He’s calm. He’s not panicking _at all_ so just **shut up,** alright?! He guides Aiden into the keep and through the halls until they make it to his room, shivering all the way. Fuck, maybe running out in the middle of a storm wasn’t his smartest plan. But can you really blame him for panicking? Songbird is sure to give him a lecture about it but he has no leg to stand on ‘cause of that little stunt he pulled himself a couple a years ago.

Lambert doesn’t really know what to make of Aiden’s whole speech. But it’s fine. They’ll fuck, Aiden will realize that’s all he wants, they’ll move on. Like he said, fine.

Lambert throws open his door and strides in, beginning to strip and head to his bed. Before he gets very far though he finds himself spun around and pinned to the wall. Alright. Won’t even be using a bed. Fine. Not like Lambert imagined this countless times, always on the bed where he can touch every inch of Aiden’s skin and savor it.

But he can be flexible. Lambert reaches for Aiden’s belt but is slapped away. While an arm remains across Lambert’s chest keeping him in place, Aiden’s other hand lifts Lambert’s chin to eye him. “You still don’t fully believe me.” 

Of _course_ not. Who the fuck is gonna love him? Lambert is a miserable git who couldn’t say a kind thing if it could save his life. He snaps at everyone and hates being a witcher and only enjoys his bloody job when he’s by Aiden’s side and Aiden never gets annoyed when Lambert insults him or snarks at him and Aiden’s smile makes Lambert’s heart flutter and- _no_ this was a list about why they _won’t_ work. **Fuck.**

“Hey kitten, you’re lost in your head. Come back to me,” Aiden coaxes. 

Lambert hates following orders, but for some godsforsaken reason he finds himself listening anyway. Blinking his eyes open, Lambert stares at Aiden helplessly. The Cat's lips are quirked in a fond smile and those amber eyes Lambert has dreamt about too many times sparkle with hope. Fuck but he’s gorgeous. Lambert gulps. 

A steady hand runs through Lambert’s hair and he finds his eyes fluttering closed again. “What do I have to do to prove myself, hmm? To prove that I want you for more than a quick fuck?”

Lambert releases a scoff that sounds more like a whine. “I’m damaged goods Aiden, and once you realise that you’ll run for the fucking hills.” 

A hand grips his chin again and Lambert can’t help but open his eyes to gaze at this man he-

Nope not saying it.

“Lambert. Every fucking person in this bloody keep is damaged goods. We’re all broken and missing pieces.” He rubs his thumb across Lambert’s mouth and the Wolf parts his lips, wanting a taste. But Aiden continues on until he’s stroking down Lambert’s cheek, ever so gently. “Can’t we find out if our jagged edges fit together?” 

Fuck. Lambert challenges anyone not to cave when they hear that tone of voice. He swallows dryly. And then slowly, hesitantly, he nods. 

_Fuck._ Aiden’s smile is blinding and Lambert wants to bottle it up so whenever he’s knee deep in monster guts or being chased outta a town he can soak it up like fucking moonshine. Instead, he tries to memorize it. How little lines crinkle under his eyes and how amber irises light up and white teeth glint in the light. 

Okay getting too sappy abort abort. “So are we gonna fuck or what?” 

Aiden’s laugh is dark and not at all reassuring. “Oh no kitten. You and I are rejoining your pack before your brother hunts us down to geld me. Then I’m going to cuddle you like I’ve been wanting to do for 3 years.” 

Lambert’s eyes widen and his lips part slightly. 3 years? Oh fuck. His shock over the fact that Aiden has wanted to snuggle up to him _since they’ve known each other_ nearly distracts Lambert from his outrage at the fact that they’re not gonna fuck now. 

Looking at Aiden’s face and the black eye starting to bloom, a flash of guilt runs through him and he bites his lip to swallow his protest. Lambert touches the injury lightly. “Thanks for pulling your punches,” Aiden comments with a soft smile. 

Fuck. How did he know? Lambert was so furious and humiliated but even then he couldn’t hurt Aiden. At least, not much. Fine. Aiden doesn’t wanna fuck yet? Lambert can wait. Especially if that means he doesn’t have to actually apologise for punching him. Twice. Lambert doesn’t do apologies. 

Besides. Well. 

Cuddles do sound nice. 

*******

Geralt has been staring at the door from where Lambert and Aiden had fled over a half hour ago like he hopes it will combust under the strength of his glare. Meanwhile, Jaskier is sprawled on his lap in an attempt to prevent the witcher from following the pair. He’s tried persuasion and bribery so physically lying on him is Jaskier’s final attempt. That seems to be working so far, but Geralt could use some kind of distraction other than pretending to listen to Jaskier ramble before he changes his mind and races after them anyway. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that little stunt you pulled earlier my boy,” Marya calls to Geralt. Eyes widening, Geralt drags his gaze away from the door to look at Marya meekly. Jaskier grins. That could do it.

Though the shifter wears a stern expression from where she’s curled up with Vesemir, Marya’s lips are twitching slightly. Vesemir reaches behind him, pulling out one of the balls once again to wiggle in front of her. Marya eyes it longingly while Jaskier perks up and Kamil watches on with a bite of his lip. “Wanna join them?” Eskel asks with a grin, nudging the shifter’s shoulder companionably from where he sits beside him. 

Kamil fiddles with the book in his hand. “It was so painful-I don’t know if I can go through that again,” he responds fretfully. 

Though Marya was clearly about to shift, she stops at that comment. Turning to Kamil she explains urgently, “No pup, your bones need to bend and shift. That’s why you were in so much pain.” Striding toward where Kamil sits up in his bed, Marya brushes a hand through his hair. “Have you ever sat for too long so you feel stiff and sore? Imagine that but times 100. The more frequently you shift the easier and more painless it will be.” 

A spark of hope alights in Kamil’s eyes and he brightens up. “Can you walk me through it again?” 

Marya beams. “It would be my honor.” 

Hmm. Geralt will need to get a third ball. 

Jaskier is wiggling in excitement, preparing to shift, when Lambert comes stomping in, Aiden trailing lightly behind him not looking as beat up as expected. Could’ve been worse. To Jaskier’s surprise, Lambert beelines toward him, leering. “Hey Songbird, if you two want an audience I can give you a few names.” Instead of rising to the bait, Jaskier looks up at Lambert with an assessing gaze. Well, he’s alive, so that’s encouraging. But now that he’s standing before Jaskier, the witcher is shifting uncomfortably, eyes flicking anywhere but at the bard. 

Ah, of course. He needs to talk. 

Lambert talks to Jaskier willingly, if not begrudgingly, in two scenarios: when Jaskier is shifted and when Jaskier has his fingers in his hair. And the shifter has a sneaking suspicion this is a conversation that will need two participants capable of speech. Jaskier ignores Lambert’s initial greeting, stretching. “I could use a dip in the springs, couldn’t you?” he suggests. 

Lambert grunts. “Was gonna tell you that you stink.” Jaskier rolls his eyes fondly. Poor emotionally constipated wolf. 

As Jaskier and Lambert wander away, Aiden glowers at their backs. “I’m getting my fucking pay,” he mutters darkly. 

Geralt rises in a burst of motion, gripping Aiden by the throat and raising him in the air. “He doesn’t owe you a fucking copper,” he hisses, spitting in the Cat’s face. 

“I- was talking about- fucking _cuddling_ you brainless- oaf,” Aiden chokes out, feet kicking in the air uselessly. Abruptly, Geralt releases his captive with a blink and, like the cat he is, Aiden lands on his feet. (When did he start calling the madman by his name? Fuck.) 

Patting down his hair, which Geralt distantly registers is soaked, Aiden huffs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to warm myself by the fire before my bloody fingers fall off.” And he stalks away with all the dignity of a drenched cat. Huh. He was definitely committed enough to race into that monster of a storm. Geralt’s eyes narrow. But why are his clothes dry? Dawning horror crashes over him. There can only be one explanation. 

Stalking to Aiden and Ewa’s makeshift workstation from earlier, he picks up a sword and whetstone before making his way to where the Cat is soaking up the heat. Sitting beside him so the assassin could see Geralt out of the corner of his eye from where he faces the fire, Geralt slowly begins sharpening his weapon. 

Spotting him in his periphery Aiden rolls his eyes before remarking, “How many threats from you must I endure? I’m just wondering so I can schedule accordingly.” 

“What did you do to him?” Geralt rumbles menacingly. 

Arching a brow, the Cat turns to face Geralt fully. “What do you mean? Did I ensorcel him? Seduce him with my feline wiles?” he asks sarcastically.

Geralt growls impatiently, clenching his sword. “What did you do after you chased him?” All of his instincts are telling Geralt to subdue the threat that touched his brother. 

Turning away from him again, Aiden rubs his hands together before the fire. “I tackled him into the snow and told him how I felt. Then I pinned him to a wall so we could talk more.” Side-eying the Wolf he adds dryly, “I promise I respected his virtue, oh great White Wolf.” Geralt’s hackles rise but Aiden simply plops onto his back with a sigh, closing his eyes, and leaving the other witcher floundering with what to do next. 

*******

Jaskier hums spurts of melodies as he lathers Lambert’s hair and starts massaging his scalp. He hasn’t spoken since they left the great hall other than to moan at the warmth of the spring after they had to make the freezing trek across the keep. Just like Geralt, it can take Lambert some time to gather his words and in the interim, silence works better than mindless chatter. Jaskier smiles, picturing Lambert’s reaction if Jaskier compared the two wolves out loud. 

With every passing minute, the tension Lambert was practically vibrating with when they arrived slowly begins to ebb away. “How - Hmm.” Lambert grunts, scowling. Jaskier stops humming and a taut silence falls between them. “How do I show that I care?” he finally grits out. _Well, not punching the person who professes his love to you would be a good start_ Jaskier thinks to himself amusedly. He wants to swoon though, so proud of Lambert for reaching out to Jaskier for help.

Humming, Jaskier covers Lambert’s eyes before gently pouring water over his head. Putting aside the bucket Jaskier cards his fingers through Lambert’s hair, grinning at the length. Though he cuts it short for the spring season, Lambert grows his hair out a bit during the winter for some mysterious reason. (Certainly not because he likes a particular bard to wash and run his fingers through it.) 

“There are many ways to show people how you care,” Jaskier muses. “The most common is by using your words-” Lambert grunts dismissively at that idea. Jaskier chuckles; he had a feeling that wouldn’t fly. 

Dancing his fingers down Lambert’s neck to start massaging the tense shoulders Jaskier elaborates, “Though some may say the more meaningful way is by doing things for the person you love, big or small. Sharpening their blade, picking a flower that reminds you of their eyes, washing their hair, or just holding and cuddling them." Thinking of this particular case Jaskier adds with a fond smile, "Dulling insults and snark with a nuzzle or peck of the lips or light touch of the shoulder works as well.” Jaskier falls silent; of course he could list countless other acts but he doesn’t want to overwhelm the poor man. 

The shifter hisses when he finds a big knot in Lambert’s shoulder. Gods he must have been stressed lately. “Hmm,” Lambert finally responds. 

“I thought you always said that monosyllabic answers were for the dumb witchers only,” Jaskier teases. 

Lambert snorts. “Fuck you Songbird.” Interestingly enough, the barb is followed with a subtle shift so Lambert’s face rubs against Jaskier’s in what could _almost_ be called a nuzzle. Jaskier grins. Sappy wolf. Another drawn out silence as Jaskier works out the final knots in his companion. “I didn’t say anything about love,” Lambert mumbles, sinking further in the spring and leaning his head against Jaskier’s chest. 

“You didn’t have to,” Jaskier replies with a kiss on the witcher’s head.

*******

”Listen Wolf,” Aiden sighs after some time passes in tense silence. “You don’t have to like me. Gods, by all means we can schedule daily threatening sessions if that does it for you,” he remarks with a lazy wave of his hand and a quirk of his lips. Peeling open an eye his wry mirth disappears, replaced by a hardened stare. “But you’re not scaring me away and you’re not keeping me from him. I’ve spent 3 long years breaking down his walls and I won’t have a brainless Wolf fucking things up for us.” Relaxing once again Aiden hums, “The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”

Geralt grips his sword hilt spasmodically with a silent snarl. He’s about to tell the asshole right where he can shove it when a loose-limbed Wolf sprawls atop the lazing Cat with a satisfied rumble. Shooting his eyes open, Aiden stares down at the witcher currently snuggling the daylights out of him with a look that can’t be construed as anything other than adoration and awe. And-fuck. Geralt has never seen Lambert smile the way he does when Aiden presses a soft kiss to the Wolf’s head. 

Grappling with the sudden feeling that he’s intruding on something, Geralt retreats to where Jaskier is scrounging up some drinks. Good idea-he could use a bloody drink. He supposes he’ll just have to see how things play out with those two. And maybe take Aiden up on those daily threatening sessions in the meantime. 

*******

Ewa is slightly tipsy and very content. She’s got a cat in her lap and her partner by her side and a group of misfits surrounding her that she’s starting to consider calling family.

“Don’t you think you’ve made that cat suffer enough time with you?” Lambert grumps from where he’s been curled up with Aiden for hours with no sign of moving. “How about you share the bloody wealth, eh?”

“Bite me, jackass,” Ewa says idly from where she is stroking Dandelion’s fur and Ciri’s hair.

“My partner loves soft things and takes no shit,” Ciri proclaims proudly, sloshing her beer. With a sloppy grin Ciri slides sideways until Ewa is taking the majority of her body weight. 

The half-elf rolls her eyes fondly before wrapping a steadying arm around Ciri. “Time for bed I think,” she says wryly, gently dumping the cat before guiding Ciri away. Geralt and Jaskier open their mouths to protest before shutting them again. With a sigh, Jaskier cuddles close to his mate. Their little girl is grown up; they can allow her partner to put her to bed. 

A few minutes later, Ewa comes back down and surveys the surprised faces looking at her. “What did you think I was gonna do-ravish her while she was passed out?” she asks exasperatedly. 

“I mean if you’re into that kinda thing,” Lambert snarks, nuzzling Aiden and petting a purring Dandelion with a lazy hand. Ewa blanches before pouring herself some more mead and chugging it. Maybe family isn’t the right term; pack is more fitting. A bunch of wild fucking animals, the lot of them.

Yawning, Jaskier places down his empty mug and shifts, plodding over to Lambert and Aiden before sprawling across their laps. Aiden stares at the shifter in shock before following Lambert’s lead and gently running his fingers through the fur. “Hmm,” he says. “Soft.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too much Eskel/Kamil or Ewa/Ciri this chapter because Lambert and Geralt decided to be way too angsty. What a shock...
> 
> I'll make up for it next time!  
> 


	6. Coming Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE GETS THEIR SHIT TOGETHER. IT'S A FUCKING MIRACLE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's DONE. Thank you all so much for leaving kudos and comments along the way, I truly appreciate every one!!

Kamil is currently curled up in Eskel’s lap. This has become a bit of a routine. Marya and Jaskier have been helping him practice his shifts and nearly every time Kamil does so, if there is no distraction like a ball, he ends up on Eskel. Not that Eskel minds; he’s more...baffled. And flattered. And finds himself melting a tetch. Kamil is just adorable and soft and comforting and sweet and **fuck** Eskel is really gone for this man. 

Hearing a thoughtful hum, Eskel looks up from where he was staring. “You know, foxes are notoriously skittish creatures,” Marya muses vaguely. “For him to have the persistent instinct to cuddle you means Kamil feels quite safe near you.” Eskel blinks at Kamil, heart clenching with fondness while the shifter tries to burrow into the witcher’s chest in mortification. 

Running a hand through the soft coat Eskel murmurs, “Thank you for trusting me.” Despite Kamil’s embarrassment, the fox peeks out of his hiding place to nuzzle Eskel’s neck affectionately before nosing at a discarded book from earlier. Chuckling warmly, Eskel picks up the book. “I see, you just want to be near me because I like to read,” he teases. Kamil releases a playful yip, tail thumping against Eskel’s leg. Cracking the book open, Eskel mindlessly cards his fingers through his companion’s fur. Fuck but he could get used to this. 

*******

It’s taken several days and a lot of bribery but Jaskier has finally convinced Geralt to… _talk._ The snow that fell a couple days ago is several feet high but Vesemir has made them clear pathways throughout the keep. Of course, this was after they witnessed the three shifters leap gleefully through the snow banks, chasing after balls. Gods, Geralt never thought he would witness Vesemir _laugh_ like that. 

Geralt follows the sound of metal clanging and arrives at the old worn down forge. He doesn’t know the last time he was here; without a full keep, the witchers got used to seeking smith shops whilst on the Path. As he draws closer, Geralt registers low singing underneath the echoes of metal on metal. 

_It’s dark as the dungeons and damp as the dew_

_Where the dangers are double and the pleasures are few_

_Where the rain never falls and the sun never shines_

_And it’s dark as the dungeon way down in the mines_

He slows his walk and stands in the doorway to take in the scene. Ewa’s sleeves are rolled to her elbows as she works to bend a piece of ore. Dandelion is soaking up the warmth of the forge while Ciri watches Ewa, both women’s voices overlapping as they sing together. Ciri is swaying with a soft smile as she sings, her voice rising higher than Ewa's deeper harmony. 

Fuck. Jaskier is right; Geralt needs to lay off the blacksmith. And if a bloody wolf shifter can control his protective instincts then Geralt should probably do that too. 

Ewa is turning to wiggle her eyebrows at Ciri, and fumbles the tongs drawing metal from the fire when she catches sight of Geralt. Spotted, the witcher trudges into the forge. “Sorry for interrupting,” Geralt rumbles, fiddling with the dagger he’s grasping. “Was just hoping for some repairs.” Ewa’s shuttered expression when he first walked in melts just slightly, eyes glinting as she picks up the proffered knife. Its handle is slightly bent and the blade chipped. Certainly happened from a monster hunt and not from a panicking father scrambling for an excuse to speak to his daughter’s partner. 

“Hmm,” she says, eyeing it with a critical gaze. “Try unbending the handle but may weaken the foundation,” she mumbles under her breath, turning to the workstation. “Might be better just to replace the blade with stronger steel.” 

As Geralt watches the blacksmith become sucked into her work, Ciri walks over to him and leans an arm on his shoulder. “Repairs, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts, knowing his daughter can see right through him. 

Grinning, Ciri claps his back. “Have fun together. Try to limit the threats this time, yeah?” And humming a tune, Ciri strolls away, leaving Geralt and Ewa alone. 

Right. Now what? 

The blacksmith doesn’t acknowledge Geralt’s continued presence, muttering to herself as she measures the dagger and assesses different materials. When she turns to grab a tool, Ewa jumps as she spots Geralt. “You’re still here,” she observes with a guarded expression. 

Nodding, Geralt fiddles with some pile of iron at the counter before his hand gets slapped away. He looks up at Ewa, mouth gaping open at her audacity. But the blacksmith has her hands on her hips, amber eyes flinty. “No touching my shit.” 

Arching a brow Geralt remarks mildly, “Didn’t realise this was all yours.” 

Huffing, Ewa crosses her arms. “Considering the state of this place when I first entered it, I’m taking it off of your hands because you fools clearly don’t know how to appreciate a good forge.” 

Geralt’s lips twitch with amusement. Little spitfire. He could get used to this. “Teach me, oh wise one,” he intones, sweeping an arm through the forge. When Ewa simply stares at him skeptically, Geralt shrugs before explaining awkwardly, “Never been in a smithy for longer than it takes to give my order and pay. Curious how it all works.” 

Though Geralt can tell Ewa is still suspicious, and he doesn’t blame her considering the nature of their relationship up to this point, a spark of excitement alights in her eye. Nodding she grunts, “You wanna learn, you gotta help.” Picking up a rag, she throws it at his face before grinning evilly. “Step one my apprentice: make this place look spotless.” 

Staring uncomprehendingly at the rag before returning his gaze to see that Ewa’s smirk hasn’t faded, Geralt releases a long sigh. _Of course_ Ciri went and fell in love with a little shit. Shouldn’t be surprising considering who she grew up around. 

*******

With “training” over, Kamil is shifted back to two legs and is currently watching Jaskier with amusement. When Eskel mentions that he’s going on a hunt now that the snow has settled, Kamil perks up. “Can I come?” he asks eagerly. 

“I’m glad you’re excited about shifting but I don’t think you’re ready for that Kamil,” Jaskier cautions from where he’s trying to balance 10 biscuits without them falling. 

Shaking his head Kamil clarifies, “No-I’m a hunter.” Glancing at Eskel he adds wryly, “That’s what I do when not getting mauled by wargs at least.” Eskel’s eyes widen. Of course. The bow and arrow found beside him and the dead creatures. Must be a skilled huntsman to have fought them all off, even if he was injured in the process. 

Jaskier releases a whine as his tower of biscuits collapses before he starts systematically eating them. Swiping one from the pile Eskel says worriedly, “I don’t know Kamil- your injury was so recent.” 

The huntsman rolls his eyes fondly. “Eskel, I’ve felt fine for days now! I think you’re being a bit of mother hen.” 

Jaskier snorts around a mouthful of biscuits. “Eskel the mother hen,” he snickers. Glaring at the bard, Eskel steals another biscuit in retaliation. 

Frowning at Kamil he says firmly, “We’ll go slow. And if you feel any pain we’re turning back.”

“Yes sir,” Kamil teases, and Eskel has to swallow dryly at the choice of phrasing. Oh fuck. 

As they trek out a half hour later, Kamil eyes the borrowed bow from the armory with a critical gaze. “This is shit workmanship,” he bemoans, making Eskel chuckle. Oh, if only Lambert were here; he spent _weeks_ on that thing.

“You can do better I assume?” Eskel asks as he peers out into the woods. The problem with so much snow is animals are going to be burrowed away. It’s going to take awhile to find something that feeds the full keep. 

Kamil scoffs. _”Obviously.”_ Running an expert hand down the back of the bow he explains, “This should have a sharper curve to increase the distance.” Grasping the grip Kamil adds, “This should be smoothed down so I don’t get a hand full of splinters.” Pulling out an arrow he exclaims incredulously, “Not to mention this shoddy work! Look at this fletching!” 

Eskel can’t hide his fond smile. This is the most passionate and indignant he’s ever seen Kamil and as much as he’s drawn to the shifter’s soft and sweet nature, this side of him is equally as endearing. Fuck but Eskel hasn’t felt this drawn to someone before. Every moment he spends in the huntsman’s presence just increases Eskel’s desire to know him more, to soak up the warmth and light that emanates from him like the sun. From the little he has shared of his life, Kamil’s life has been bitter and harsh yet he is so gentle and kind. How does he do it? 

But that leads Eskel to a whole other set of questions. Does Kamil just spend time with him as thanks for helping him heal and teaching him to read? He’s so nice; for all Eskel knows Kamil is just keeping Eskel company out of pity since he’s the only witcher in the keep without someone to love. 

Eskel is torn out of his bitter thoughts when Kamil suddenly freezes, eyes narrowing and nose lifted to the air. Before Eskel can ask what he senses, Kamil shifts and bolts away. _”Fuck!”_ Eskel hisses, chasing after the fox. 

Jaskier and Marya have noted that while Kamil becomes more acclimated with his shifter side, his instincts will be going a bit haywire. Eskel should’ve known that hunting would trigger them. _Stupid._ His heart freezes in his chest when he hears a yelp. _No._ Fuck fuck fuck. 

Rounding a crop of trees, Eskel skids to a halt, gaping with awe. The fox has dug a hole in the snow and pounced on a rabbit, killing it cleanly. Turning with it in his mouth, Kamil trots over to Eskel and plops the kill down at Eskel’s feet with a happy wag. Falling on a knee, Eskel wraps his arms around the shifter. “Don’t _scare_ me like that,” he pleads. 

Releasing an apologetic yip, the shifter noses at the crook of Eskel’s neck, making the witcher chuckle. Eyeing the kill, Eskel shakes his head in amazement. “You’re certainly a natural,” he remarks. “Guess this means you don’t need a bow anymore.” 

When Kamil's tail droops in response, Eskel tilts his head. “Though I suppose if you’re such an archery snob you may still like to hunt that way too?” He releases a relieved sigh when the fox’s ears perk up and his tail waves once again before Kamil places his nose to the ground and lopes off. Smiling, Eskel trails after the eager shifter. Well, this isn’t how he was expecting their hunting trip to go, but the witcher can go with the flow. 

*******

When the dagger is finished, Geralt mops his forehead with the grimy rag, exhausted. Good Melitele how the fuck does Ewa make this look so easy? “This was fun!” the half-elf in question remarks brightly. Clapping him on the shoulder Ewa adds with a grin, “Next time you wanna bond, feel free not to break a perfectly good dagger to do so.” 

Geralt’s eyes widen. Fuck. How did she know? Ewa sends him a pitying glance, lips twitching. “Geralt, I’ve been a blacksmith for over a decade. No accident or fight damages a dagger like that.” The witcher scowls, grumbling under his breath about smartarse blacksmiths as Ewa follows behind him with a laugh. 

*******  
Eskel and Kamil are coming back from a hunt when they run into Geralt heading to the stables. “Wanna check on Roach,” Geralt grunts. 

“Hmm. Might as well give Scorpion a groom while you’re at it,” Eskel muses, changing directions. When they arrive at the stable Geralt freezes.

“Eskel?” Geralt asks calmly. “Why. Is your bloody horse. Touching my girl??”

Though they are separated by their stalls, Scorpion is leaning over the edge to nuzzle against Roach while the mare returns the gesture. “Aww, it looks like love is in the air!” Kamil croons. Geralt and Eskel blanch. 

“No. No. Absolutely not.” Geralt shakes his head furiously. 

“I’m too young to be a grandfather,” Eskel says faintly. 

Kamil is biting his lips to prevent himself from breaking out in laughter. “Sorry fellas but love is love. You really gonna deprive them of this?” Both witchers look conflicted and nauseated simultaneously. 

Finally, Geralt stalks up to Scorpion until they’re nose to nose. “Listen to me you little shit,” he hisses. “You treat her right or I swear I will geld you without mercy.” 

As Kamil looks on he turns to Eskel. “Does he know that the horses don’t understand him?” he whispers. 

“Unclear,” Eskel murmurs with a twitch of his lips. 

While Geralt continues to issue threats to the stallion, Eskel throws an arm around Kamil. “Let’s give him some privacy,” he smirks. Beaming up at him, Kamil leans into Eskel’s embrace with a happy hum. Eskel can only look down at the man who trusts him so easily, breath caught in his throat. Fuck this is gonna be a long winter. 

*******

Eskel takes a steady breath, double checking the objects in his hand. He can do this. With another deep breath Eskel approaches where Kamil is hunched over a book. It’s taken all winter but the shifter has been making slow but steady progress with his reading ability. “Kamil?” Eskel calls, gulping when the man in question looks up, eyes brightening. 

“Hey Eskel,” he responds warmly, tilting his head when he spots what the witcher is holding. Swallowing nervously Eskel brandishes the bow and quiver full of arrows. “I know you hate the one you’ve been using. Hope this is closer to what you like.” 

Kamil slowly rises, drifting over to Eskel. Lifting up the bow, Kamil drags his hand along the grip. Eskel spent far too long ensuring that the wood was smoothed down enough. He couldn’t resist carving designs into the bow though. Kamil deserves something ornate. 

Eskel fights the urge to shift anxiously on his feet as Kamil analyzes every detail and angle of the bow before moving on to the arrows and their fletchings. Kamil once ranted for a half hour about the correct fletchings for optimal velocity and Eskel spent hours tracking the materials down. 

Finally, he looks up, eyes glowing. “You made these for me?” he breathes. 

Fighting the instinct to turn his scarred side away, Eskel rubs the back of his neck and starts blabbering. “I know you could’ve done better but I just wanted to give you something ‘cause I’ve really appreciated getting to know you this winter and, you know, if you wanna meet up for a drink or something at some point I’d be up for that but don’t feel obligated I’m just-” 

Eskel has never been so relieved to be interrupted than in that moment. He has never been more _surprised_ however when he’s interrupted by the softest fucking lips in the fucking world pressing against his. 

Before Eskel’s brain can fully register what's happening and respond, Kamil throws himself back, a look of horror crossing his face. “I’m so sorry Eskel I know you don't see me like that you're just so-” now it’s Eskel’s turn to interrupt Kamil, this time with just a light touch upon the other man’s cheek. 

“Did you mean it?” Eskel asks, eyes searching Kamil’s gaze. Kamil licks his lips, swallowing audibly. Meeting Eskel’s eyes the shifter nods silently. Then Eskel is surging forward with a relieved whimper. Kamil melts into the kiss, winding his arms around Eskel’s neck, bow and all. Eskel eagerly licks into the huntsman's mouth, moaning at the taste of honey and _Kamil_ as he rakes fingers through the hair he had been longing to touch for months. 

“Fucking _finally!”_ Lambert exclaims exasperatedly as he strides into the room. Eskel and Kamil jump apart awkwardly before shooting Lambert matching glares. 

“Lambert you really have no leg to stand on when it comes to hopelessly pining for ages,” Jaskier remarks with amusement as he rides through the door on Geralt’s back for some inexplicable reason. 

“Pot. Kettle,” Lambert states, pointing to himself and then Jaskier.

“Congrats on finally getting a clue,” Geralt says smugly. 

Growling, Eskel rubs his face tiredly. Why the fuck does he love these bastards? He jumps as a cool hand slips into his own. Smiling up at him slyly Kamil murmurs, “Maybe we take this somewhere more private?” Eskel grins. Kamil is full of great ideas. 

*******

Marya finds him in a dusty and decrepit room. Dried blood splatters the floors and walls. It’s impossible to tell what the room’s original function was; any objects have been smashed or burned beyond recognition. 

Something has clearly been on his mind for the past few days. Marya was hoping he would approach her about whatever was bothering him but in true witcher fashion, Vesemir is keeping it to himself. 

She comes up beside him silently and he doesn’t acknowledge her for several minutes. That’s alright; she raised Julian, she knows how to be patient. When he finally speaks his voice is distant and hoarse. “I can’t survive it again.” 

Surveying the decimated room, Marya hums. “You never talk about them.” 

When Vesemir turns to her, his face is lined with sorrow and grief and he clutches her hands so tightly her bones would bend if she were human. “I can’t lose another pack,” he rasps, eyes wild. 

Wordlessly, Marya draws Vesemir’s head down so their foreheads press together. Breathing slowly, Marya closes her eyes as she tangles her fingers in his hair. “I wish I can promise nothing will happen to our pack my love. But that kind of power is far out of my reach.” 

Shifting so Vesemir’s head is resting against her chest, Marya leans down to press a kiss to his head. “All I can say is that times are changing and our children are strong. It would take more than a band of fanatics to tear this pack apart.” 

Vesemir releases a heavy sigh, melting into Marya’s touch as she continues to card her fingers through his locks. After a long moment Vesemir starts to speak. “They were all a bunch of bastards, the lot of ‘em. But they were family.” Marya smiles softly and settles into his tale. 

*******

Ciri is thrilled that Geralt and Jaskier have chilled the fuck out when it comes to her and Ewa. Unfortunately, the one time they spotted Ewa and Ciri in Ciri’s room together they had a slight conniption. And they have spies fucking everywhere. 

So out of desperation, this is what they’ve resorted to. It’s late when Ciri sneaks down to the springs for a midnight rendezvous with her partner. She’s brainstorming everything she is planning to do to her when Ciri freezes in horror. 

In the spring Lambert is straddled in Aiden’s lap, both of them clearly naked. Lambert's tongue is 100% buried in the Cat’s mouth and now Ciri’s eyes are burning. She squeaks in shock and the two witchers whirl around, brandishing daggers and Ciri is really not going to think about where those came from. 

At that moment Ewa runs into Ciri who is still stopped in the doorway. Leaning around to peer at what has Ciri frozen Ewa groans in horror. Clapping a hand over her eyes Ciri states, “I promise not to tell everyone you broke the cardinal rule _you_ instituted Lambert if you carry what you saw today to your grave.” 

Recovering far too quickly Lambert cackles, “You mean seeing you and your little girlfriend sneaking around behind Geralt and Jaskier’s backs? Do I _have_ a death wish?”

“I don’t know-call me little again and we can find out,” Ewa growls. 

Backing up and ushering Ewa out of the room with her, Ciri babbles, “Glad we’re in agreement. I’m gonna go stab my eyes out now.” Shaking her head clear, Ciri drags Ewa away. The mood completely shot, Ciri hums in contemplation. Maybe she’ll just spend the night in the pack room instead. She could do with some quality cuddling time. 

*******

Dandelion is a very happy four legged. His family has grown big big big. As he picks his way through the nap and pet room, Dandelion tries to decide where to settle down. So many options! There is four legged-loud one curled up with soft one, four legged-mama loud one with papa soft one, and four legged-quiet one on top of strong one. Not to mention tall one and fire one just snuck in too. 

While Dandelion is trying to make up his mind, wild one and litter mate creep in. Too many laps and fur! How does Dandelion choose?? Dandelion is relieved when wild one picks him up before plopping down beside litter mate and four legged-loud one. Dandelion rumbles in his place on wild one's chest. Wild one is getting very good at purring and petting and cuddling. They all are. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, Lambert and Aiden were barely in this chapter because they were off screen fucking their brains out in between long bouts of cuddles. 
> 
> Song: Dark as a Dungeon (idk it just seems like the PERFECT forge song)  
> And now I attempt to credit everyone who’s given me a prompt or an idea that I shamelessly stole. Please tell me if I forgot to name you!!
> 
>  **IronDad_SpiderSon (WitcherSexual):** Ciri meets someone and brings them to Kaer Morhen. Cue nosy and overprotective pack  
>  **Shruiken87:** Other witcher schools brought into the pack  
>  **Pineapplemoon:** Lambert gets some love of his own  
>  **Rawrkinjd:** Aiden calling Lambert “kitten” and the Lambert/Aiden and Scorpion/Roach ships  
>  **DarkInuFan:** Ciri and Lambert trigger a group howl, Geralt bought leather balls to play fetch with Marya and Jaskier  
>  **Kimmhobbit and Morgan_Bevis91:** Dandelion meets the rest of the fam  
>  **Morgan_Bevis91:** Dandelion’s names “litter mate” and “wild one”  
>  **Superherogeek:** an injured traveler is found on the killer and brought to Kaer Morhen  
>  **Dumbledork:** Aiden noticing Lambert is feeling jealous about not having anything to cuddle→ “I may not be as cute and fluffy but if you want to cuddle a cat so badly I’m right here.”  
>  **apieceofyourmind:** Lambert comes to Jaskier/Geralt for advice  
>  **BookSmartMione:** Jaskier and Geralt stress eat biscuits because of the ridiculousness of the pining  
>  **Alathe:** “My girlfriend loves soft things and takes no shit” 
> 
> There are some prompts and some of my own ideas that I couldn’t quite fit in this fic so I’ll either do another story using them or add chapters to “Roach Deserves Nice Smelling Things.” 
> 
> Thank you so much for your reception of this fic!! If you are interested in more of these characters and shenanigans/have any ideas of where you would like this series to go next, leave a comment :-)  
> 


End file.
